


The Grosvenor Gang

by consultingking



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Angst, Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes Style, Fluff, Jim Moriarty - Freeform, Kid Jim Moriarty, Kid Sebastian Moran, Kid Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Minor Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty Fluff, Sherlock - Freeform, mormor, sebastian moran - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 215,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23907649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingking/pseuds/consultingking
Summary: At eight years old Sebastian Moran is already an outcast, living alone with his father in the slums of Dublin. Renowned for his anger problems, Sebastian finds himself a frequent target of bullying and fighting at school, until one summer he encounters the notorious Grosvenor Street Gang and their troubled ringleader, seven-year-old Jim Moriarty.
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/James Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 23
Kudos: 75





	1. The Birthday Present

For his eighth birthday, Sebastian Moran asked for a bike.

It wasn’t just any old bike; it was a new Raleigh Chopper, with high-rise handlebars and shiny red paintwork.

Just about every boy at school had one, and each morning in the playground Sebastian watched as his classmates brandished their new bikes to one another, and raced each-other up and down the street in order to see who was the fastest. Most days he felt as though he was the only one in the world without a stupid Chopper, yet every time he asked his father he was met merely with the same, feeble excuse:

_‘Maybe next birthday, Sebastian.’_

It was only the two of them nowadays, ever since Sebastian’s mother had walked out on them the previous year. Since then they had just about managed, residing on Grosvenor Street, the same street that Sebastian had grown up on in the heart of Dublin. The neighbourhood itself was notorious for being dangerous, especially at nighttime. You had the big kids who spat and swore at each-other, as well as the grown-men who would often stumble down the road pissed out of their minds at three in the morning. Most nights the noise prevented Sebastian from going to sleep, and he would lay awake for hours listening to the sounds of the police-car sirens coming to whisk away the drunks and the older boys who often got into fistfights on the street corner. As he grew older the noises didn’t frighten Sebastian so much, yet still each night he wished that he could run away, pack all of his belongings into his schoolbag and escape through the bedroom window.But running away meant leaving his father behind, and besides who would be there to cook his favourite dinner of sausages and baked beans?

On of the morning of his eighth birthday, Sebastian arrived in the kitchen to find his father already sat and waiting for him by the kitchen table. Since his redundancy, the man now had a lot of time on his hands, most of which was spent up the pub drinking himself into oblivion. He used to work in a factory, sticking labels onto cans of tinned food, up until a few months ago when he had been laid-off in favour of new, younger workers. After the redundancy Sebastian watched as his father became sluggish and dishevelled, with hardly enough money anymore to pay the electricity bills or buy Sebastian a new school uniform for the new term.

He was a lanky, heavily-tattooed man, with a scraggly beard and a mild alcohol addiction. Sebastian himself was tall for his age, carrying the same skinny frame as his father, the only difference being that his hair was blond just like his mother’s had been. And he wasn’t an alcoholic either, he was only eight.

“Here he is… the birthday boy!”

His father was already dressed in his shoes and jacket, which Sebastian took to mean that he was preparing to spend yet another day down at the pub. He grunted in response, slotting into his usual seat opposite from his father as he snatched for the carton of milk on the table. Sebastian screwed open the lid only to discover to his dismay that the contents were empty, tossing it aside in favour of a slice of toast instead. He took a large bite; the marmalade dribbled from the side, and out of the corner of his eye Sebastian could spot an unopened envelope awaiting him on the table.

“Is that for me?” He asked hopefully, lowering his half-eaten slice of toast so that he could reach over and swipe it.

On the front Sebastian’s name was scribbled clumsily in pen, the ink smudged slightly from where it had been written in a hurry. He picked it up with sticky fingers, staining the exterior of the envelope in marmalade as he tore open the paper. Inside was a cheap card, the price sticker still plastered boldly on the back.

“Ah- sorry, let me get that,” the tattooed man cursed abruptly, prizing the card away from Sebastian momentarily so that he could remove the dreaded price sticker.

But it was too late, Sebastian had already spotted it.

He flashed his father a sheepish smile, mainly to disguise his disappointment, taking the card back from him and propping it carefully on display on top of the table. The eight-year-old admired it for a few seconds, until his mind was swiftly drawn to more pressing matters.

“Did ma send a card?” He sniffed, turning his attention towards the older man, whose stare was currently fixated at the empty carton of milk.

“It’s probably still in the post,” his father lied unconvincingly, keen to steer the conversation away from the topic of Sebastian’s mother.

That was the second birthday she had missed now, not to mention the previous Christmas as well. As time passed Sebastian was starting to lose hope of her ever returning, but still each time the telephone rang he still prayed a little that it would be her voice on the other end. Not that it ever was.

“But just before you go, I bought you a little something. It’s in the garden… After all, you’re officially eight now, I figured you deserved something special.”

It was the bike. It had to be. Sebastian could already tell that it was the Raleigh Chopper he had dreamed of so desperately, with the gleaming, red paintwork and everything. Suddenly the lousy card didn’t seem to matter so much anymore, all that mattered was that Sebastian Moran was getting a brand new bike. It was uncommon for him to get presents, even on his birthday, but this year his luck appeared to have changed.

And with a gleeful grin, the eight-year-old raced out into the garden in order to inspect his new toy, coming to an abrupt halt as soon as he set eyes upon it.

It was definitely a bike - but not the one that Sebastian had asked for.

His stomach knotted as he was greeted by the pink monstrosity - the flowery pattern displayed boldly on the paintwork as well as the pink tassels erupting from the ends of the handlebars. It was clearly a girl’s bike, a _sissy_ bike. It stood propped up in the middle of the garden, and cautiously Sebastian approached so that he could examine it properly. There were a few scratch marks in places - not only was it a girl’s bike but it was seemingly a hand-me-down too. His heart sunk immediately, whilst his face crumpled in dismay.

“I know it’s not the one you asked for, but one of the lads at the pub sold it to me for a few quid,” his father, who was watching from the doorway, explained tentatively, observing his son with a hopeful expression.

“I figured maybe I could give it a lick of paint tomorrow. It’ll be good as new.”

Sebastian brushed his hand along the paintwork, coming to a stop at the handlebars.

“It’s great, dad,” he lied with ease. “Thanks.”

School was already bad enough, even without the added embarrassment of owning a sissy’s bike. Alike the rest of the town, Sebastian went to the local Catholic school, with a stupid green uniform and a blazer which practically engulfed his skinny frame. He didn’t particularly enjoy it there, not when he was often the subject of bullying and teasing from the other boys. He was still in the lower school, even despite the fact that he was taller than most of his classmates, but that didn’t stop the others from making fun of his oversized uniform, or the fact that his mother had walked out on the family a few months ago.

The latter was usually enough to earn the culprit a broken nose, resulting in the eight-year-old constantly being sent home early, often in a flood of anger.

As expected, the reception in the school playground that morning wasn’t pleasant. The jeers and shouting broke out as soon as Sebastian stepped foot through the school gates, the explosion of pink catching the attention of the older boys from the upper school, who all marched over to take a look. Sebastian hadn’t wanted to bring the stupid bike along with him, especially not to school, but his father had convinced him that it would be a wasted opportunity just to leave it sitting around in the garden all day, especially when the walk to school was long and tiresome.

He left school that same afternoon in a foul temper, now sporting a split lip and a grazed cheek. A fight had broken out over lunchtime, the main culprit being Jack O’Donavan, the buck-toothed boy in Sebastian’s maths class whose mother had had an affair with the geography teacher the previous term. The reason behind the fight naturally revolved around Sebastian’s new present, with Jack calling it a ‘bike for poofs’ - and subsequently being tackled to the ground by a furious Moran.

He considered going home, but his father would only interrogate him about the bloodied patches on his face, so instead Sebastian decided to mill around the streets for a while until it got dark, helping himself to a bag of fizzy sweets from the corner shop. They had only cost five pence, and Sebastian had scraped together the last of the loose money from his pocket in order to buy them.

Sebastian perched on the street kerb so that he could devour the remainder of his sweets, his hand rummaging around as he reached for the last few stray lemon sherbets that were hiding at the bottom of the bag. The bike was propped against the wall behind him, with the eight-year-old a notable distance away from it so that he wouldn’t be associated with the pink eyesore.

His birthday had been a shit one, even more so than last year’s, which was an achievement in itself. For Sebastian’s seventh birthday his father had taken him to the park, only for him to fall off of the swings whilst attempting to perform a jump and hit his head. He had needed stitches after that, but even then it wasn’t as bad as his current birthday was proving to be.

He plucked a sherbet from the bottom of the bag, cramming it resentfully into his mouth, before a voice from afar interrupted him.

“This is our territory, you’re trespassing.”

The voice was surprisingly shrill, with whoever was speaking maintaining a thick Irish accent. It clearly belonged to a child, and upon looking up Sebastian was immediately greeted by the boy in question.

He must have only been a little kid, judging by his scrawny physique and large, brown eyes, which were currently staring directly at the eight-year-old. The boy was sitting on top of his own bike; unlike Sebastian’s his was green, with handlebars which were far too large for his little hands. They went to the same school - Sebastian could tell by the uniform - and on top of the boy’s raven-coloured hair sat a large, paper crown, sellotaped at the sides to stop it from falling apart.

Surrounding the boy were who Sebastian could only assume to be his cronies; two larger boys, both of whom were glaring at him with distrust, and carrying large, menacing sticks in their hands.

“Who the fuck are you?” Sebastian grunted warily, wiping the sugary residue from his lips using his blazer sleeve.

His question was met only with a snarl of disapproval from the youngest member of the group, whose gaze was now fixated upon Sebastian like a spider eyeing its prey. The use of the ‘eff’ word had clearly surprised him, and as his disapproval ebbed away it looked almost as though he was trying not to grin.

“I’m Jim, leader of the Grosvenor Gang,” the boy with the crown chimed boastfully. “And I don’t like trespassers.”

“The Grosvenor Gang? What’s that-” Sebastian persisted in confusion, but the boy, Jim, had already started to speak again.

“Give us a sweet.”

He outstretched a dirty hand, and Sebastian clutched a little tighter to the paper bag.

“Piss off.”

“I said give us a sweet!”

Reluctantly Sebastian dug his hand into the bag of sweets, pulling out the last of the fizzy cola bottles. He had been saving them for the very end, simply because they were his favourite, but at Jim’s disapproving growl he unwillingly handed them over.

“Is that your bike? The pink one?”

Jim gestured towards the flowery bicycle, and eight-year-old merely shrugged. The excess of sweets was beginning to make his stomach ache, and he wasn’t in the mood to play games with a stupid kid. Sebastian considered not answering at first, but the boys surrounding Jim both raised their sticks threateningly up in the air, and he didn’t particularly want to become another one of their victims.

“An’ what if it is?”

“It can’t be your bike, it’s a girl’s bike.”

“It’s not a girl’s bike!”

The more Jim laughed, the more Sebastian could feel himself growing irritated. He scowled, causing his split lip to throb with pain, the entirety of his face turning red and flustered. His laugh was just as shrill as his voice was, only this time it came across as mocking, as though he was attempting to taunt the eight-year-old. For a little kid he was oddly menacing, and Sebastian couldn’t help but wonder how old he actually was.

“Of course it’s a girl’s bike,” Jim giggled, his laughter finally dying down as he licked his lips. “It’s got pink tassels an’ everything!”

His crown was far too large for his head, and kept slipping down below his eyes, causing the boy to huff as he attempted to reposition it again. It was a red, the same colour of the bike that Sebastian had wanted so desperately, although despite the sellotape it looked to be on the verge of falling apart.

“Yeah well I was gonna cut them off anyway,” Sebastian protested stubbornly, getting to his feet and brushing the dirt from his trousers.

He still had a few hours before he needed to go home for his tea; his father was cooking eggs and bacon that night, a special birthday treat. Sebastian would have been lying if he said his stomach didn’t growl at the mere thought of it.

“You go to my school,” The boy with the crown stated simply, observing Sebastian with a cunning smile.

“I watched you punch Jack O’Donavan today at lunch… You’re Sebastian Moran.”

The eight-year-old opened his mouth to protest, a little uneasy that the boy somehow already knew his name. Maybe one of the older kids had ran their mouths, or maybe Jack O’Donavan was telling lies again.

“How d’you know my name?” He demanded gruffly.

“Everybody knows it,” Jim shrugged calmly. “‘Cos you always get into fights with the boys from big school. Connor McKelly reckons you’re mental.”

Sebastian grunted again in discontent, attempting to ignore the boy’s previous comment as he marched back towards where his bike was standing.

“What class are you in?” He asked, prizing the bicycle forcefully away from where it was propped against the wall, grabbing it by the handlebars instead of mounting it.

He’d have to drag it home, there was no way in Hell he was going to ride it.

Sebastian figured Jim couldn’t be the same age as him, not since he was so small and scrawny. He looked like a baby, yet the boys surrounding him looked so much older. They had to at least be a year older than Sebastian, which made Sebastian wonder why a boy as small as Jim was hanging around with such big kids in the first place.

“First class.”

“First? You're only a baby.”

“Am not!” Jim shrieked “I’m nearly eight!”

“Yeah well I’m in second class,” Sebastian boasted, for the first time feeling as though he had the high ground in the conversation. “That makes me older an’ smarter than you.”

“I’m much cleverer than you actually,” The seven-year-old retorted sulkily, without missing a beat.

Sebastian scoffed.

“Prove it.”

“I know what the chemical equation for methane is!”

“Bullshit!”

“Is not!” Jim shrieked. “It’s one carbon atom an’ _four_ hydrogen atoms. I told you I was clever.”

Sebastian stood there stunned, a small frown creasing his brow. He himself had never been good at science, nor did he even know what a stupid ‘atom’ was, if Jim hadn’t just made up the word on the spot. He would have called Jim’s bluff, but the boy seemed so confident with his answer, and Sebastian didn’t want to upset him any further incase he started shrieking and screaming again.

“D’you like science then?” He asked curiously.

“And maths,” Jim agreed with an air of smugness. “I’m really good at maths. Miss Williamson gives me the same work as the ten-year-olds.”

Jim stood expectantly, as if he was waiting for more praise to be delivered, however Sebastian didn’t say anything. He stood awkwardly on the side of the road, almost jealous by how smart Jim was claiming to be. Then again he couldn’t be _that_ smart, especially not since he was wearing a flimsy paper crown and pretending to be the leader of a gang.

“Yeah well I need to get home for tea,” he grumbled, making sure he had a firm hold of the handlebars of his bicycle before beginning to wheel it down the road, away from the gang of boys watching him.

“Can’t you stay here a little longer?” The seven, almost-eight, year old frowned defiantly, his bottom lip outstretching into a pout.

“We were gonna get chips from the chip shop.”

“I don’t like chips,” Sebastian lied simply, shrugging his shoulders.

“An’ I don’t want to be part of your stupid gang. I’m going home for my tea.”

He could still feel Jim’s eyes on him, examining him like an endangered specimen. It caused the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle uncomfortably, and suddenly Sebastian’s school tie felt tight and constricting. He continued to walk down the road, ignoring the shouts and protests from behind him, trailing the pink bike carefully by his side. The tyres wobbled against the stones and uneven paving slabs, causing the little bike to bounce up and down unsteadily.

“If you trespass again then we’ll kill you!” The seven-year-old threatened furiously, his war-cry echoing across the street.

“And we’ll smash up your stupid bike too!”

But Sebastian Moran had already turned the corner, and disappeared down the back-alley, leaving Jim and his gaggle of cronies wavering hesitantly in the middle of the street. And as he traipsed through the alley-way back home, Sebastian could already hear Jim barking orders at the rest of his gang, clearly now in an exceedingly bad temper. It was strange, he’d never seen him at school before, or heard his name being spoken aloud by any of the teachers or other boys. In-fact he didn’t even know his surname. Maybe Jim just didn’t have one.


	2. Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian is forced to reunite with the dreaded Grosvenor Gang after a disappointing birthday, and finds that he has more in common with the group's mysterious ringleader.

It was no secret that the chip shop on the corner sold the best chips in the whole of Dublin, or at least that’s what Sebastian liked to think.

It was owned by Mrs Phipps; a short, plump woman who Sebastian had grown well-acquainted to over the eight years he had lived on Grosvenor Street. He visited every Friday on his way home from school, requesting the same order of battered cod and chips as he did any other week. Mrs Phipps seemed to recognise Sebastian each time he pressed his grubby face up against the window outside, and as soon as he entered he was greeted by the same crowd of school-kids all waiting for their own suppers.

The shop was a popular hotspot for the boys at Sebastian’s school, only because it was directly opposite from the all-girl’s Catholic school. Sometimes when the girls passed they giggled and lifted up their shirts to flash their bras, but Sebastian didn’t understand why the older boys liked it so much. They were just girls after all.

Sebastian’s father rarely cooked unless it was food straight out of a packet. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, Sebastian missed the dinners his mother used to cook for them; the meat and potatoes on a Sunday, or the soups she used to make whenever Sebastian was home from school with a sickness bug. Nowadays his father was usually too busy to cook proper meals, unless they involved being blitzed in a microwave, but that didn’t mean that Sebastian didn’t love him any less. He was still the best dad in the world, even if his cooking did taste like dog shit.

He reached his house not long after his encounter with the supposed Grosvenor Gang, dumping his bike carelessly outside on the grass before letting himself in. There was no sign of movement within the house, nor was his father’s jacket hung up on the coat rack like it usually was. The radio and the television were switched off, and as Sebastian traipsed into the kitchen he was greeted by a note, on-top of which sat two pound coins.

_’Staying out late tonight. Buy yourself something nice.’_

That meant only one thing, that his father was still out at the pub. He had promised to come home early that evening to cook Sebastian his birthday tea, but by the looks of it Sebastian would have to buy his own dinner. Perhaps it was quiz night, or maybe his father was already too drunk to stand on his own two feet.

He carefully pocketed the coins, making sure they were safe in his blazer pocket before retreating back out of the house and slamming the door begrudgingly behind him. The eight-year-old decided against bringing his new bike, not that it was a particularly hard decision to make; the last thing he wanted was to draw any more attention to himself, especially after his earlier scuffle with Jack O’Donavan. No doubt he and his friends were already waiting on one of the street corners ready to inflict their revenge. It wasn’t uncommon; O’Donavan and his cronies were prone to seeking out Sebastian after school, whether it was snatching his tie and stealing his sweets, or calling him a ‘freak’ whilst he collected his schoolbag from the cloak-room at the end of the day. And to nobody’s surprise, Sebastian always reacted, like a dangerous volcano constantly on the verge of eruption. He would shout and swear, kick at the walls in a frenzied attack, and on one occasion he had even gone as far as to hurl a book at Jack’s head. That last one had earned him a phone-call straight home to his father, and he had been forced to sit in the reflection room to calm down until his father came to pick him up.

Sebastian arrived at the chip shop only to find it relatively empty, which was surprising for a Friday evening. There was a rugby match on at the playing fields that evening against the neighbouring town, which Sebastian supposed accounted for the lack of customers. Sebastian enjoyed rugby a lot, especially watching the big matches on the telly. He admired the way the players tackled each-other, how elegant and clean they made it seem even whilst ramming into each-other like bulls in a china shop. The school had their own rugby team, but it was only for the older boys in the upper school. Sebastian had watched a few of their matches against the rival schools, not that any of them were particularly exciting. But regardless he still planned on trying out for the team once he was old enough, and maybe if he was lucky enough he’d go on to become a famous rugby player some day.

The shop wasn’t completely empty however; on the wall outside sat three boys, all of whom were sharing a large bag of soggy chips between them. It wasn’t hard to identify the smallest boy as being Jim, who was currently hogging the bag of chips for himself, despite the complaints and whines from his fellow peers. Sebastian watched sheepishly from afar as Jim crammed a handful chips into his mouth, his pale, stick-like legs swinging carelessly from the edge of the wall. His uniform, alike Sebastian’s, was far too big for him and practically swallowed him up whole, and the seven-year-old was still wearing the same crown as before, only this time it was starting to wilt gloomily on-top of the boy’s dark hair.

He tried to turn away, but Jim had already spotted him.

“Look who it is,” Jim exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger straight towards Sebastian’s chest.

“Traitor!”

Sebastian in turn took a hasty step backwards, his cheeks flushing a furious shade of red.

“Traitor?! But I didn’t do anything!” He protested adamantly.

The eight-year-old attempted to take a few steps forward, much to Jim’s dismay, who used his arm to hastily shield the remaining vinegar-soaked chips away from Moran. Sebastian furrowed his brow, coming to a firm halt in-front of the boys when Jim gestured for him to stop.

“You said you were going home for your tea, and now you’re here to nick our chips,” the younger boy stated boisterously, the gang of surrounding cronies both grunting in agreement.

“I’m not nicking anybody’s chips,” Sebastian assured the crowd, retrieving the two pound coins from his pocket and outstretching them in his palm to show to Jim. “I was gonna buy my own.”

“Too late.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Mrs Phipps has already closed the shop. She’s gone to watch the rugby.”

“Oh.”

Sebastian stuffed the coins back into his pocket, feeling a wave of embarrassment flood across his face. His stomach rumbled menacingly, causing Jim to raise a curious eyebrow, and hesitantly he lowered the half-eaten bag of food. 

“Where’s your bike? The girly one with the pink tassels?” He demanded.

“Left it at home,” Sebastian muttered dismissively, his stomach offering another incessant growl as he watched Jim help himself to another chip. “Why? Are you gonna take the piss out of me again?”

Jim giggled at the question, using his sleeve to wipe any remains of food from his lips. The laugh was shrill and childish, and despite Jim’s efforts to clean himself up his lips were still smeared in red ketchup.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” the boy promised with a wide grin, before suddenly waving for his fellow gang members to make space as he beckoned Sebastian forward.

Regardless of his hesitance, Sebastian obediently followed Jim’s command, and clambered up onto the wall to sit beside him. Without a word, the smaller boy offered the remains of his bag of chips, and Sebastian scooped them up eagerly with his hand before shovelling them into his mouth. They must have been sat outside for a long time judging by how cold the chips were, but that didn’t make them any less satisfying. The vinegar stung his tongue and caused the boy to grimace slightly, and Jim immediately shrieked with pleasure at the sight. The surrounding boys didn’t appear to be too pleased by the new addition to their group, especially not since Jim seemed to be thrilled by Sebastian’s antics, admiring him like an adoring puppy.

“What happened to your tea?”

Sebastian, who was in the middle of wolfing down a large portion of chips, shrugged.

“My dad’s up the pub. He won’t be home until late.”

As he spoke, he could just about make out faint noises coming from the two older boys, and upon finishing his mouthful of food Sebastian turned to see them both whispering to one another. As they whispered, they wore stupid grins across their faces, and the eight-year-old’s stomach knotted in dismay once he realised what they were whispering about - or _who_ they were whispering about to be more precise. He had heard the word ‘ma’ used at least once during their gossiping, and without warning he dropped the now-empty bag of chips and immediately flew into a rage.

“Shut up talking about my ma!”

He recognised the older boys now, from the countless detentions they had shared together; Dean and Pip. Pip’s real name was Phillip, but for some reason everybody at school called him Pip. Sebastian thought it was a stupid nickname since Phillip was in-fact extremely tall, but he didn’t dare say it aloud incase he received a thumping from the boy. Dean on the other hand was three years older than Sebastian, pale and lanky, with fiery red hair and a crooked nose from where he had broken it during a game of football. Both of them were in the upper section of the school, which meant that in just over a year they’d be moving away to a new school entirely.

Sebastian clambered down from the wall, his face burning bright red as he kicked furiously at Dean’s bike, watching as it clattered onto the pavement with an almighty thud. Dean yelped in protest, but it was Jim who hastily followed after the explosive eight-year-old, tugging on the back of his blazer in an attempt to stop him.

“Sebastian-“

“You’re all just laughing at me!”

“I’m not.”

Sebastian stopped in his tracks, his shoulders sinking at the realisation that Jim was still stood watching him. The smaller boy didn’t appear fazed at all by Sebastian’s sudden outburst, nor did he seem to be laughing at him. His face was plastered with a stubborn scowl, which quickly became directed at Pip and Dean, who were still perched on top of the wall.

“Say sorry to Sebastian,” he ordered sternly.

“But we didn’t do anything!”

“You laughed at him, now say sorry or I’m kicking you both out of the gang… An’ I’ll tell Mrs Patel the truth about what happened to her pet rabbit.”

Both boys deliberated for a moment, but Jim’s threat frightened them tremendously, and the smug smirks were wiped clean off of their faces. It was Dean who spoke first, his head bowed shamefully and his arms folded across his chest.

“Sorry, Sebastian.”

And in turn, his apology was followed quickly by Pip’s.

“Yeah, we’re really sorry. We didn’t mean to make fun of you.”

Jim seemed content with the pair’s apologies, and hummed in satisfaction. He placed a pale, slightly-greasy hand on top of Sebastian’s shoulder, and patted it lightly. The eight-year old saw the gesture as being somewhat patronising, a bit like an owner praising its dog, but he was still focused on trying to calm himself down.

“See? Now will you stop being angry?” Jim asked eventually, a hint of a smile creeping across his lips. “What’s wrong with your ma anyway?”

“She doesn’t live with us anymore,” Sebastian grunted in response, stuffing his hands into his blazer pockets. They were still sticky from the bag of sweets he had pocketed earlier in the evening, made only worse by the soggy chips.

“Where does she live then?”

“Dunno. Her and my dad got divorced last year. It’s just me and my dad now.”

“What’s your dad like?” Jim asked, his brown eyes widened with sudden curiosity.

“Is he mean to you? Does he hit you? Does he shout?”

“No! He’s not like that!” Sebastian retaliated defensively. “He’s a good dad.”

Jim pulled a face, not entirely convinced by Sebastian’s efforts to try and persuade him. He trudged back over to the wall where Pip and Dean were perched, leaning back against the brickwork and eyeing Sebastian with a suspicious frown.

“If he was a good dad then he wouldn’t be at the pub. He’d be at home cooking your tea.”

“Yeah well where are your parents then?” The eight-year-old retorted, Jim’s taunts having clearly hit a soft spot.

“Haven’t got any,” Jim chimed proudly.

“That’s rubbish,” Sebastian huffed indignantly. “Everybody’s got parents.”

“I don’t!”

“Bullshit!”

Jim rolled his eyes, an exasperated, and frankly over-dramatic, groan escaping his lips.

“I live with Kirstie and Brian, but they’re not my _real_ parents. They just get paid to look after me.”

“If they aren’t your real parents who are they?”

“My foster parents,” The smaller boy explained, putting a heavy emphasis on each syllable as if he was trying to mock Sebastian.

His sentence droned out tiresomely, and the blond boy could almost sense the discontent in Jim’s voice. He seemed frustrated by the prospect of even having to say the words out loud, and Sebastian frankly couldn’t blame him. Having fake parents sounded shit.

“They’re my fourth ones, the others just kept sending me back to the home.”

Sebastian had a vague idea of what Jim meant by ‘the home.’ He passed it each day on his way home from school; the correctional home for kids without mums and dads. It was an ancient building, supposedly it had once been used as an old public library, only they had never gotten round to refurbishing the outside. A few of the boys in Sebastian’s class reckoned it was haunted, or that the place was filled entirely with blood-sucking vampires, but he had never believed in their stories. Sometimes on his way home from school he would catch a faint glimpse of the kids playing in the garden through the gaps in the fence, yet they all seemed relatively happy to him. He wondered whether or not Jim was happy too.

“D’you know who your real parents are?”

“Not yet,” Jim murmured warily, kicking a stray pebble across the pavement as he spoke.

“But I’m gonna find them one day. It’s only a matter of time.”

Sebastian watched as the pebble bounced across the street, tumbling onto the road and falling into the gutter with a small ‘ping’. Jim hummed in satisfaction, using the back of his hand to wipe the last ketchup-y remains from his lips.

“Do you wanna play cowboys and Indians with us before it gets dark?” He piped up suddenly, any grief caused by their previous conversation having completely vanished. In-fact Sebastian was rather glad that the conversation had moved swiftly on from the topic of family.

But despite his relief, the eight-year-old still hesitated at the question. He casted his gaze upwards to where the sun had started to sink below the horizon, leaving behind a pale orange sky, where the specs of light danced around the pavement below. They still had an hour or so until the horizon would swallow up the sun completely, so cautiously Sebastian nodded his head.

He tried not to think about his father, only Jim, who was currently trying to adjust the paper crown on top of his head.

“I’m going to play the sheriff, and since you’re new you’re gonna have to play as an Indian.”

“Does that mean I’m part of your gang now?”

“Only if you want to be.”

“Yeah…” Sebastian mumbled sheepishly in agreement. “…Yeah I do.”

“Good,” Jim decided bluntly. “Now c’mon otherwise it’ll be dark soon.”

A stupid grin spread across Sebastian’s features, one that was intoxicated by pure joy. He had never been part of something before, not unless you counted the cub-scout pact he had been a part of when he was six. He still attended sometimes, just not as frequently now that his father had no way of paying for it. But this was different, this was a proper gang, with no stupid adults to boss them around. And even though he was only a baby, Sebastian didn’t mind that Jim was the leader. There was something about Jim that Sebastian couldn’t help but admire, only he hadn’t figured out what it was yet.

The game of cowboys and Indians took place in the woods, a secluded patch of greenery away from the raucous city streets. As Jim had already explained, he and Dean would be playing cowboys, whilst Sebastian was relegated to the role of an Indian alongside Phillip since he was new. Sebastian wasn’t quite sure what being an Indian entailed, however the answer soon became evident when a chase broke out amongst the boys, and Sebastian was forced to try and outrun his smaller counterpart, who was currently trying to attack him with a giant stick.

They chanted war-cries as they ran, flailing around sticks and other pieces of debris that they had found on the woodland floor. Sebastian accused Jim of cheating because he was riding his bike, but the seven-year old tried to claim that technically it wasn’t a bike, it was instead his ‘horse’. In the end it hadn’t mattered anyway, the cowboys triumphed over the Indians, using their weapons to capture them in a blaze of glory. Sebastian and Pip eventually surrendered, holding up their muddy hands in defeat as Jim towered over them both.

“Is that the end of the game?” Sebastian asked with an air of disappointment.

“It always ends with the cowboys beating the Indians,” Dean explained, wiping his filthy hands on his school trousers.

Sebastian looked down to his own school uniform; it was covered in mud, as well as little pieces of twigs and leaves which had become stuck in the lapel of his blazer. His father would kill him if he ever saw the mess that he had created, and Sebastian simply had to pray that he was still occupied at the pub.

Jim was watching thoughtfully from the sidelines as Sebastian attempted to clean himself up, before eventually he outstretched a pale hand to the boy to help him up.

“You can ride home on the back of my bike if you’d like,” he offered.

There was still a small grin twitching at the corners of his lips, no doubt the smaller boy was still reeling over his victory during their earlier game of cowboys and Indians. Sebastian couldn’t blame him, Jim made a rather impressive cowboy, and he and Dean had both had won fair and square.

Jim clambered onto the bike first, followed shortly after by Sebastian, who attempted to squeeze onto the remaining space behind him. He held onto Jim’s shoulders so that he wouldn’t lose his balance and fall, and soon enough they were off, flanked in tow by Dean and Pip. All three of the bikes raced through the gaps between the trees, eventually emerging on the other side of the woods as they sped down the road. Jim continued to lead the way, and Sebastian could feel the final few rays of sunlight tickling the back of his neck as they passed through the town.

Pip was the first to leave, claiming that he needed to get home before his grandmother woke up from her nap. Dean left not long afterwards, waving goodbye the two remaining boys as he diverted onto the nearest side-street towards one of the blocks of flats. Soon enough it was only Jim and Sebastian left - and frankly it was a miracle that the two hadn’t lost their balance and toppled over yet.

“What number do you live at?” Jim asked curiously, his hand tugging at the brakes as they slowly approached Grosvenor Street.

“Forty two.”

“I live a few doors down,” Jim expressed eagerly, “Number thirty six, opposite from the post office.”

“Have you lived there long?” Sebastian asked out of curiosity. “I haven’t see you around before.”

“Almost a month.”

Jim squeezed on the handlebars as soon as Sebastian’s house came into sight, the letters ‘forty two’ stapled sturdily to the gatepost. The bicycle skidded to a halt, and Sebastian hopped off once he was certain that the bike had completely stopped. He traipsed past the open gate, before stopping upon reaching the front-door. Jim was still perched on his bike, waiting for him on the side of the road.

“Yeah well, thanks for the chips,” Sebastian mumbled, flashing the smaller boy a brief smile.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry the others made fun of your ma,” the seven-year-old apologised sheepishly.

“Once you’ve gone through initiation then they won’t pick on you anymore. You’ll be one of us.”

“Initiation?”

“Uh huh,” Jim agreed. “If you want to become a proper member of the gang then you’ll need to go through an initiation ceremony… Dean and Pip had to do it too.”

“And what’s that?”

_“James?!”_

A woman’s voice called from afar, interrupting their discussion; it was a warm, low-sounding voice, that at the same time sounded far from happy. Jim appeared to recognise it, and immediately he glanced up to try and locate the whereabouts of the woman. Sebastian wondered if she was in-fact the infamous ‘Kirstie’ who Jim had told him about earlier, and he couldn’t help but notice the hot shade of pink that flooded over the boy’s face. It wasn’t long before Jim yelled back his own response.

_“Coming!”_

The woman didn’t reply, much to Jim’s relief, and he bit his tongue to try and suppress a giggle.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta go… I’m not supposed to play outside after sunset.”

“Can we play cowboys and Indians again sometime?” Sebastian blurted out suddenly, before the smaller boy had a chance to leave.

“We don’t just play cowboys and Indians y’know,” Jim pointed out skeptically. “We play explorers too, an’ last week we went down to the docks and played pirates.”

“You’re allowed near the docks!?-“

_“James Moriarty!”_

_“I said I’m coming!”_

Jim groaned in despair, his hands coming to rest upon the handlebars of the bike once more as he placed his foot upon the pedal. Sebastian’s shoulders sunk at the realisation he’d have to say goodbye to Jim, but that didn’t stop him from waving farewell to his newfound friend, who eagerly waved in return.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘Bastian.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“But where should I meet you?” He persisted.

“I’ll find you,” Jim promised simply, a devilish grin curling at the edge of his lips.


	3. Initiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian undergoes the gang's initiation ceremony.

The following morning was a Saturday, Sebastian Moran’s favourite day of the week. It was his favourite day purely because it was one of the only chances he got to sleep in for as long as he wanted to, without the dreaded fear of being late for school; however on that fateful morning his peace and quiet was soon interrupted by the sudden pelting of rocks against his bedroom window.

It had started with one loud crash, followed by two or three smaller patters against the window pane. Sebastian awoke with a start, crawling out of bed frantically as he went to investigate the strange noise. He rubbed his eyes hazily, attempting to tread through the mess of toy army soldiers and action figures littering the carpet so that he could prize open the curtains. Light immediately flooded into the little bedroom, illuminating the dozens of rugby posters that littered the wall, as well as Sebastian’s bedsheets which were currently tangled up in a ball. The bedsheets were jungle-themed, the same ones that Sebastian had owned since he was five, covered with patterns of bright-orange tigers prowling through the rainforest.

Sebastian’s bedroom was the smallest room in the house, except for perhaps the bathroom; there were tall piles of books strewn across his desk, some of them school-related, whilst the majority were adventure stories and comics. His favourite of the lot was Treasure Island, simply because the thought of pirates and buried treasure was enough to excite any eight-year-old boy. Various different school certificates were also proudly showcased on the wall, awarded to Sebastian for coming first place in a creative writing competition last month, and for not getting into any trouble for a whole entire week.

To his surprise, it was Jim who was stood outside, a fourth rock clutched in his hand and ready to fire. He was no longer dressed in his green school blazer, instead he donned a pair of denim shorts and what seemed to be a Bee Gees t-shirt, his socks rolled right up to his knee-caps. The shirt was far too big for his tiny frame, Sebastian guessed it must have been a teenage-sized one judging by the way it trailed down to Jim’s knees like a dress.

With a grunt, Sebastian opened the window, shielding his face with his hands incase anymore rocks came flying in his direction.

“Ground control to Major Tom, are you there?” Jim yelled up to the older boy as soon as the window opened, waving his arms erratically to try and catch his attention.

The blond winced at the sudden noise, standing dumbfounded as the smaller boy cried out once more.

“I said ground control to-“

“Yeah I heard you the first time!” Sebastian called down from above, leaning over the window ledge so that he could peer down at Jim below.  
  
“What are you doing outside of my house?!”

“I said I’d find you, didn’t I?”

There was no sign of either Dean or Pip - either they were still asleep or they hadn’t bothered to show up. In a way, Sebastian was grateful that Dean wasn’t there; not only was he older and taller, but he was also a lot stronger. Dean was captain of the school rugby team, and if he had joined Jim in throwing rocks at Sebastian’s bedroom window then no doubt the glass would have smashed instantly, and then they’d all be end up in big trouble.

“What time is it?” Sebastian asked thickly, rubbing his eyes.

“Just gone eight.”

Sebastian’s heart lurched at the realisation that his father was probably somewhere in the house, most likely sleeping off his hangover from the previous night. He often staggered home from the pub at around two or three at night, and normally the eight-year-old would arrive downstairs in the mornings to find the man sprawled across the living room sofa in the midst of a deep-sleep. Sometimes he wasn’t alone; on the odd occasion he brought his old friends from the factory home with him, and they would shout and swear in the kitchen whilst Sebastian eavesdropped from the top of the stairs. It hadn’t always been like that, not until after his father’s redundancy. But the house was virtually silent, and Sebastian managed a sigh of relief at the realisation that his dad was probably just sleeping.

“Now are you coming down to play or not?” Jim demanded impatiently.

The blond quickly shook away his thoughts, and swallowed the thick lump that had formed in his throat.

“Yeah…Yeah alright,” He agreed finally, before his brow creased all of a sudden.

“But where are we going?”

“My house… My foster parents are at work, I’ve got the place all to myself,” Jim boasted smugly.

“Where do they work?”

“They’re maths professors up at the university,” he continued to explain. “It means they always bring me home maths textbooks from their lectures and I get to read them all. They’re giving a lecture on multivariate calculus this afternoon, they promised to tell me all about it when they get home.”

“That doesn’t sound very fun,” Sebastian retorted.

Jim merely rolled his eyes.

“Well it wouldn’t to you. You’ve got a brain the size of a pea.”

Sebastian had insisted on brushing his teeth and getting dressed before going to meet Jim outside, deciding to skip his usual shower in order to save time. He normally took a wash every morning, but the shower faucet needed repairing, and after sniffing his armpits the boy came to the conclusion that he didn’t smell too bad.

As Sebastian arrived downstairs, he was greeted at once by the sight of his father collapsed on the sofa, his eyes closed and his shirt still reeking of the previous night’s mayhem. The eight-year-old hovered uncertainly by the door, recognising the familiar golden stain on his father’s shirt as being that of beer.

“Is he dead?” Jim, who was attempting to catch a peek from the doorway, asked curiously.

“Obviously he’s not dead,” Sebastian hissed, pressing a finger to his lips to signal for the boy to be quiet.

But Jim’s words had admittedly frightened him a little, so cautiously Sebastian crept forward and placed a hand against his father’s chest, just to make sure that he wasn’t _actually_ dead. His shirt was still slightly sticky from last night’s endeavours, however soon enough Sebastian was able to locate the man’s slow, steady heartbeat underneath the fabric, and he retracted his hand in satisfaction. As soon as he pulled away, his father erupted into an almighty snore, and Jim couldn’t help but giggle as he watched in awe.

“See? Just sleeping.”

“Should we wake him up?”

“He’ll be fine,” Sebastian interjected dismissively, carefully closing the living room door behind him as he rummaged around for his trainers.

He eventually found them, hidden underneath the kitchen table amongst the rest of the clutter, and he eagerly tugged them on before following Jim out of the house and towards the front-gate.

“If you wake him up then he’ll just get angry.”

The pink, flowery bike was still strewn across the ground as Sebastian closed the front-door, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the sight of Jim’s own bike balanced against the wall - which was clearly new judging by the gleaming green paintwork. His own bike was lying in ruins, and had already become a victim of one of the neighbourhood drunks considering the fact that somebody had already torn the pink tassels off of the handlebars, which were currently scattered across the damp pavement. If anything they were merely doing Sebastian a favour, and it saved him the effort of having to cut the tassels off himself. But that didn’t help the fact that the bike was still a hideous shade of pink.

“You’ll need to get rid of the pink,“ Jim frowned, following Sebastian’s gaze towards the discarded bicycle. “Pink isn’t allowed in our gang… It’s too girly, and we hate girls.”

“I don’t know how to paint,” Sebastian admitted truthfully.

“Dean can paint it for you, my foster dad keeps tins of paint in the shed for when he redecorates sometimes.”

“I didn’t realise Dean likes painting.”

“He doesn’t, but his sister does art up at the community college,” Jim shrugged. “Surely it must be in his genes or something.”

Jim’s answer was enough to satisfy Sebastian, and once he was certain that the bike hadn’t been damaged any further, he followed Jim’s lead and wheeled it down the road towards the smaller boy’s residence, where he was greeted by a small house much alike his own, with a bright blue door and a small cobbled pathway leading up to the front steps.

Dean and Pip were already inside when Sebastian and Jim entered, having made themselves comfortable on one of the cream sofas in the living room, sharing a tin of chocolate biscuits between them. Sebastian was unable to stop himself from gawking as he stepped through the threshold and into the hallway, admiring everything from the white walls to the vases of flowers and family portraits decorating the walls. Even though they lived on the same street as one another, their houses were polar opposites. For a start, Sebastian didn’t think that he had ever seen a house as tidy as Jim’s, or one that smelt of perfume and flowers instead of alcohol. He assumed that the photographs on the wall depicted Jim’s foster parents; a slender man with a bushy beard and glasses stood with his arm wrapped happily around the waist of a slightly dumpy woman, with grey hair and a warm smile. Sebastian couldn’t see any photographs of Jim, but the shelves were pouring with a multitude of textbooks on algebra and astrophysics so there was no doubt that they were in the right house.

“I told you not to eat those!” Jim shrieked, immediately snatching the tin of biscuits from Pip’s hands and swatting the two older boys across the back of the head. “They were the special biscuits in the cupboard for when guests come to visit.”

Dean and Pip both groaned simultaneously, hastily brushing the crumbs from their lips to try and disguise the evidence before turning to address their gang leader.

“Yeah well they can’t be _that_ special, they tasted like dogshit- oh, hello Sebastian.”

Dean stopped at the sight of Sebastian stood awkwardly behind Jim, and offered him a polite grin. Sebastian in turn returned the grin, and Jim ushered the blond into the living room whilst he retreated to the kitchen to put the biscuit tin back in its rightful place in the cupboard. Whilst Jim was gone, Sebastian took a seat precariously on the edge of one of the armchairs, his gaze continuing to drift around the room whilst Dean and Pip eyed him suspiciously. The air was somewhat tense with just the three of them, only because of the incident from the previous afternoon, but thankfully after a few minutes Jim returned to sit in-between the two older boys, creating a divide between them both. There was a chocolate biscuit hanging from his mouth, one that had clearly been stolen from the metal tin.

“What’s Sebastian doing here?” Pip muttered finally, once he had plucked up enough courage to do so. Sebastian could sense an air of jealousy in the boy’s voice, and he anxiously picked at one of the threads on the armchair while Jim took it upon himself to answer for him.

“I’m initiating him into the gang today,” Jim explained through a mouthful of biscuit, smearing his forearm across his mouth to remove any chocolate-y residue. “Plus he needs his bike painted. Dean, that’ll be your job.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one tall enough to reach the paints on the top shelf. And besides, I doubt Pip even knows how to spell the word paintbrush.”

“I told you, I’m dyslexic, the doctor told me so,” Pip protested, though Jim’s attention span was already starting to wither, and he was far more interested in the biscuit crumbs on his fingertips, which he was currently trying to brush away.

“That’s just a made up word,” the smaller boy giggled snidely, standing up once he had wiped away the last of the crumbs, and beckoning for Sebastian to join him. “You’ll stay here with Dean to make sure that he doesn’t slack off, and this time don’t break any of my toys like you did last time.”

Dean was less than happy to be confined to the shed, but Jim had promised him another chocolate biscuit if he did a good job of painting Sebastian’s bike. Sebastian couldn’t help but think that it was strange, the way that the two boys, both almost twelve, followed each and every one of Jim’s commands like obedient lapdogs. Pip seemed less willing than Dean when it came to following orders from the bossy seven-year-old, and he was equally a lot more intimidating and grumpy, so the eight-year-old was glad when Jim led him away from the living room and into the garden. Sebastian was tempted to ask Jim if they could go upstairs to his bedroom before leaving, just so that he could snoop around and try to catch a glimpse of Jim’s possessions, but the seven-year-old had already set off determinedly down the garden path. Sebastian wondered what Jim’s bedroom looked like; whether he shared it with any brothers or sisters, or if he had it all to himself. Maybe, alike the rest of the house, it was filled with books on complex science and mathematical theorems, or maybe Jim was just like any other seven-year-old boy, who enjoyed playing with action figures and slept with a teddy bear at night to stop him from having nightmares. Yet somehow that seemed highly improbable. Nothing about Jim was normal in the slightest, apart from maybe his foster parents.

The garden was the only part of the house that hadn’t been cleaned thoroughly, due to the heaps of toys and games that cluttered the grass. As well as the shed where the tins of paint were supposedly kept, Sebastian could see a rusty swing-set and a slide, as well as a deflated paddling pool rolled up by the patio. There must have been other children living there before Jim, and Jim likely wouldn’t be the last child either, which made the eight year-old wonder-

“D’you have any siblings?” Sebastian piped up abruptly, forcefully dragging his attention away from the sight of the toys so that he didn’t accidentally fall behind Jim.

They stopped at the end of the garden, in-front of a small hole which had been created in the fence, leading into the next-door-neighbour’s garden. It quickly became apparent that Jim’s stare was transfixed on the wooden fence, meaning that Sebastian’s question about brothers and sisters would have to go unanswered for now. He didn’t entirely understand what Jim’s obsession was with the stupid wooden planks, and he furrowed his brow in confusion.

“How come there’s a hole?”

“The boy I used to live with did it,” Jim shrugged, crouching down so that he could crawl through the cramped gap in the fence, avoiding any sharp debris that might catch his skin and give him a splinter. “His name was Malcolm. He was way older than me, fifteen or something, with anger issues too. He kicked a hole in the fence and tried to do a runner during my first week here.”  
  
“What happened to him?”  
  
“They found him eventually, on one of the trains to Waterford, apparently he was planning on visiting his real dad… But he got arrested a week afterwards anyway for dealing drugs. He’s in one of those young offenders’ institutions now. But they never bothered to fix the fence.”

Jim passed through the hole with ease, whilst Sebastian on the other hand struggled to squeeze himself through, wincing every so often when his knees scraped against the rough paving slabs on the ground. They emerged through to the other side of the fence, into a garden which neither of them owned. Sebastian stood up once he had successfully navigated his way through the tight gap, rubbing his now-grazed knees with the palms of his hands whilst he examined the unfamiliar territory. There were no toys in the garden this time, only a small birdbath planted into the soil and a bamboo wind-chime which jingled whenever it became tangled in the breeze.

“What are we doing here, Jim?” Sebastian whispered cautiously, realising with a pang of fear that the curtains inside the house were open, and it wouldn’t be long until whoever lived inside would spot them.

“It’s a part of your initiation,” Jim explained carelessly, traipsing through the grass before suddenly he crouched down and picked up a stray brick from the ground, prizing it from where the garden wall had started to crumble.

He then handed to Sebastian, who was staring at him in bewilderment.

“It’s to test your bravery, to make sure that you’re not a wuss… You have to throw a brick at Mrs Connell’s window.”

“Mrs Connell lives here?… but she’s-“

“-Blind, I know.”

“And she’s old,” Sebastian continued anxiously. “Really old. We can’t go around smashing up old ladies’ windows, Jim, ‘specially not blind ones. She’ll have a heart attack or something.”

“Stop worrying so much, it’s not like we ever get into trouble. She never catches us, so she can’t describe what our faces look like to the police. She’s completely clueless.”

When Jim realised that Sebastian still was unconvinced, he snatched the brick from the taller boy’s hand, and toyed with it in his own, brushing his thumb thoughtfully against the concrete.

“Everybody in the gang’s done it. Pip cried when he did it and accidentally wet himself… but don’t tell him I told you that.”

Jim took a step back, and without uttering another word he suddenly hurled the brick at the window of Mrs Connell’s house, watching excitedly as it soared across the air, before smashing through the kitchen window and shattering the glass. The noise was followed by an ear-splitting scream, a petrified shriek which was instantly recognisable as belonging to Mrs Connell. With a panicked gasp, Sebastian stumbled back across the grass and stared at the mess of shattered glass covering the kitchen floor, and at the realisation that the blind woman was more than likely to step on it if she wasn’t careful. The thought alone was enough to make him queasy.

The blond’s chest instantaneously tightened and he felt sick to his stomach, however Jim had already loaded another brick into his hand before he had even had a chance to form a proper sentence.

“Quick, throw another one. See if you can hit the bedroom window this time.”

Despite Sebastian’s reluctance, there was something about Jim’s mannerisms that made it impossible for him to disobey. It was almost as if the seven-year-old was drawing him in, like a siren luring in an unfortunate sailor out at sea with her melodies. Jim was so small, so small and so vulnerable, with his big, brown eyes and his infectious laughter enough to intoxicate even the grumpiest of strangers. He was only a little kid, without even a mother or father to tell him what was right and wrong, and it was Sebastian Moran’s job to shield him from the world. To protect him.

With a shaky breath Sebastian followed Jim’s instructions, launching the second attack at Mrs Connell’s bedroom window, before immediately afterwards closing his eyes so that he didn’t have to see the damage. The second, even louder, scream was enough to indicate that he had succeeded in his task, and upon opening his eyes Sebastian realised that the brick had smashed right through the centre of the bedroom window, leaving behind a large, gaping hole surrounded by jagged glass.

For a moment, he was frozen with guilt, horrified by his unlawful act, before suddenly he emitted an uncontrollable, breathless laugh. He hadn’t meant to laugh, but Jim didn’t take long to join in either, and soon enough the pair of them were giggling madly in the grass together, all whilst the terrified cries of the old woman continued to drift out from the hallway as she attempted to phone for help. It was the sound of police sirens a few minutes later that alerted Jim that they needed to leave, and he elbowed Sebastian sharply in the ribs before taking ahold of his hand and dragging him back through the garden towards a gateway leading out onto the street. Jim’s hand was hot and sticky, but Sebastian tried to ignore the feeling as he raced after Jim, dodging past the mounds of broken glass as they ran out onto the road.

They walked for around a mile, both giggling hysterically and stumbling over their own feet like madmen, before finally Jim grew restless and they collapsed down onto the side of the road against a patch of long grass. Sebastian was still grinning triumphantly, the sounds of the police sirens having long since stopped. They were probably already at poor Mrs Connell’s house, interviewing her whilst she sobbed and sniffled, but as the time passed Sebastian’s guilt was beginning to slow ebb away, replacing itself instead with pride at his accomplishment.

“So what happens next? Do we get to smash up anymore windows?” The eight-year-old persisted eagerly, kicking out his legs as they basked in the sunlight.

There was a steady flow of traffic passing them by, yet none of the cars in question stopped to observe the two boys sat together on the side of the road. Sebastian preferred it that way, for once he wasn’t the centre of attention. It felt nice.

“Easy, ‘Bastian,” Jim instructed sternly. “If we throw too many bricks then we’ll only get into trouble. We need to be careful.”

Jim dug around inside his pocket, eventually pulling out a crumbly chocolate biscuit, which had melted during the duration that it had been sat inside the boy’s shorts.

“Here, I stole one for you.”

He passed it to Sebastian, who gladly took hold of it despite how sticky it was. He took a large, ungraceful bite whilst watching the traffic pass, a bright grin spreading across the corners of his lips as he devoured the remainder of the biscuit. The last two days had singlehandedly been the best days of his life, all thanks to the rebellious seven-year-old sat beside him. Jim was currently picking at the grass absent-mindedly, his own pale, stick-like legs outstretched in the sun, his face lit up with a gentle, yellow glow.

As he sat there however, Sebastian’s gaze was drawn to a small glimmer of silver in Jim’s pocket, one that certainly wasn’t a chocolate biscuit - sometimes it would shine in the light, before swiftly vanishing again as though it had never been there in the first place.

“What’s that in your pocket?” He questioned mindlessly, attempting to lick the melted chocolate from the tips of his fingers before it stained.

“This?”

Jim dug into his pocket, eventually pulling out a long plastic case. Sebastian eyeballed it in confusion, until Jim flipped open the case with a satisfactory click, revealing a sharp blade protruding from the end.

“It’s my penknife, I stole it off one of the big kids at school. D’you like it?”

“Why do you have a penknife?”  
  
“Hold your hand out, an’ you’ll see.”

“Jim-“

“-Hold out your hand, and repeat after me.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly, his gaze trailing uneasily over the edge of the penknife as he outstretched his hand obediently. Jim in turn outstretched his own hand, the penknife still clutched tightly in the other.

“Repeat after me… I, Sebastian Moran.”

“I don’t understand-“

“Just say it!”

“…I, Sebastian Moran.”

Jim smiled in satisfaction.

“…Solemnly swear to always listen and obey the orders of Jim Moriarty, leader of the Grosvenor Gang.”

“Solemnly swear to always listen and obey the orders of Jim Moriarty, leader of the Grosvenor Gang…”

“…And I also promise never to break the gang rules… like kissing girls or refusing to share my sweets.”

“…I also promise never to break the gang rules, like kissing girls or refusing to share my sweets.”

“I hereby announce you the newest member of the Grosvenor Gang.”

Jim gestured for Sebastian’s hand, and without hesitating he cut the penknife deeply into the older boy’s palm, drawing a long red line across his skin. As soon as he let go, the blood began to pour, and Sebastian stared in dismay as his hand became stained with crimson specs of blood, trickling out from the wound and smearing his fingers. At once he attempted to cradle his hand with a wince, unsure of how to react, before Jim raised the penknife once more and carved an identical cut into his own hand.

Both of their hands were bleeding now, the blood bubbling and gushing relentlessly out of their open cuts. Jim beckoned for Sebastian to hold out his hand, and carefully he pressed their hands up against one another so that their palms were touching. Sebastian grimaced at the sudden sharp, throbbing pain erupting from his hand, and upon pulling away he noticed that Jim was smiling manically, despite the mess of blood covering his own palm.

“Congratulations, ‘Bastian. You’re now officially a gang-member,” he declared triumphantly, clambering to his feet and wiping the remains of blood against the side of his shorts.

Sebastian’s victory was only short-lived, primarily because of the throbbing pain still dominating his wounded hand. He trailed clumsily after Jim as they marched back towards Grosvenor Street, all whilst trying to nurse his still-bleeding hand, his jaw clenched to stop himself from wincing. He didn’t want to appear weak in-front of Jim. As soon as they arrived, Jim rummaged around in the kitchen drawer for a first aid kit, digging out a wad of bandages and carefully unravelling them so that Sebastian could wrap up his hand. The eight-year-old managed a weak smile once his hand had been properly bandaged up, and he watched Jim do the same before trailing out into the garden to see what Dean and Pip were up to.

Both older boys were miraculously still there, and this time they were accompanied by Sebastian’s bike. Only it didn’t resemble Sebastian’s bike in the slightest anymore. The flowery paint had been replaced completely by a bright red, and as Sebastian surveyed the bike he couldn’t find a single spot of pink anywhere. No longer did it look like a girl’s bike, it looked like a proper bike. _His_ bike.

 _“_ What do you reckon?” Dean asked proudly, stepping back to allow Sebastian to examine the bike. “We figured Jim’s foster dad wouldn’t mind if we borrowed some of his red paint.”

Sebastian let go of his bandaged hand, lowering it to one side as he carefully approached the bike. The paintwork was still wet, so he made a mental note not to touch it, but that didn’t stop a wide, toothy grin from spreading across his face as he turned to face Dean.

“It’s wonderful… Thank you,” he mumbled sheepishly, earning a nod of approval from the older, red-haired boy.

“At least it’ll stop everybody taking the piss out of you now, it’s just as good as one of those stupid Raleigh Choppers, if not better,” Dean promised, before suddenly rounding on Jim accusingly. “Now where’s my chocolate biscuit like you promised?”

Sebastian didn’t leave Jim’s house until later that afternoon, having joined the rest of the gang in demolishing the remainder of the biscuit tin in the cupboard, before playing out on the swing-set in the garden. As he left the house, he could still see the police car parked on the road outside of Mrs Connell’s house, whilst a police officer tried to calm down the hysterical old woman from her doorstep. Sebastian was in too much of a good mood to pay attention to Mrs Connell’s complaints of chest-pain, as he wheeled his newly-painted bike back to his own house with a stupid smile etched across his face. His cut didn’t hurt so much anymore, and he wore the bandage proudly around his hand like a war medal, showcasing his newly-appointed membership in the Grosvenor Gang.

After propping his bike carefully up against the wall outside, Sebastian snuck in through the doorway and kicked off his shoes. As he battled with his jacket he was greeted by the smell of cooked bacon, as well as the unmistakable sizzle of the frying pan. It wasn’t long before his father’s head emerged from behind the kitchen door, a spatula clutched in his left hand. The effects of the older man’s hangover appeared to have worn off judging by his smile, but to Sebastian’s dismay he still hadn’t changed out of his beer-stained shirt.

“Hey kid, I haven’t seen you all day,” his father hummed, placing down the spatula on the side as he observed his son. “Where were you?”

“I was out with friends,” Sebastian grunted simply, slipping past his father into the kitchen to investigate where the smell was coming from.

On the table in-front of him sat a sorry-looking plate of eggs and bacon, a measly one of his father’s attempts to apologise for the previous night’s blunder. Sebastian slotted into his usual chair, picking up a fork with his non-injured hand before proceeding to prod at a particularly grisly strip of bacon, a firm frown creasing his brow when the strip of bacon refused to co-operate. He eventually decided to push it to one side with his fork, focusing his efforts instead on the fried egg, which tasted much nicer.

“I cooked you your birthday tea like I promised… sorry it’s a bit late, I got caught up last night at the pub-” his father continued to ramble on, until he abruptly cut himself off.

“-What happened to your hand?”

Sebastian looked down at the question, realising that his bandaged hand was still in full display of his father, who was watching with skeptical eyes. He hastily hid it under the table, but it was too late, the man had already spotted it.

“I was playing in the park,” Sebastian lied uncomfortably, coming to the conclusion that a little white lie was better than telling the old man the entire truth. “I fell off the monkey bars and cut my hand. Jim helped me bandage it up.”

“Jim?”

“Jim Moriarty,” Sebastian agreed, feeling his heart jump and quicken at the mere mention of the name. “He’s my friend. I’m going to invite him round for tea soon.”

Once he finished up his tea, Sebastian said goodnight to his father, and dashed upstairs to bed whilst the older man occupied himself in-front of the television to watch his usual evening soaps. He brushed his teeth, slipping off his clothes for the day and changing into his vest-top and briefs, before crashing into bed with an exhausted huff. Sebastian clutched tightly to his bedsheets as he listened to the sounds of the passing cars outside, his thumb gently trailing over the tiger patterns on his sheets, admiring every single black and orange stripe. He felt too hyper to be sleeping, and all he could do was stare up at the ceiling whilst he thought of Jim and the Grosvenor Gang. Mainly Jim. The more he thought about it, the more ecstatic he found himself becoming. For the first time ever he actually had friends, real friends who would stick by his side, and would ensure that he no longer got picked on or bullied at school.

Eventually Sebastian rolled onto his side, a dozy smile creeping across his lips as he admired the thick cotton bandage wrapped around his hand. It was still stained slightly with a few, faint droplets of blood, but that only made him love it even more. He looked just like a fearsome pirate, like Captain Flint or Long John Silver, only without the missing leg. But the sound of a car engine whirring from outside broke his chain of thought, and reluctantly Sebastian clambered out of bed to see what the disturbance was. As he peeked underneath the gap in the curtain, not only was he met with the sight of the police car outside, but also the sight of an ambulance now accompanying it, one which hadn’t been there before. If he squinted closely, he could just about make out two faint figures in the darkness on the pavement. They were both doctors by the looks of it, carrying a stretcher between the two of them out from Mrs Connell’s house, where he and Jim had previously thrown bricks at the windows. Both doctors had their heads bowed silently, and it was only then that Sebastian realised that it was the old lady herself laying on top the stretcher, the only difference being her face and body were covered respectfully by a thin white sheet as the doctors loaded the stretcher into the back of the ambulance, before conversing briefly with the police. Sebastian didn’t understand why Mrs Connell’s face was covered in a white sheet, it was probably very uncomfortable if not suffocating, but before he could dwell on it he had already flopped back onto his bed once more, closing his eyes and tugging his bedsheets right up to his chin to make himself comfortable. It had been the best day of his entire life.


	4. Headmaster's Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An incident at lunchtime sees Sebastian and Jim being sent to the headmaster’s office. Sebastian joins his new friend for dinner.

Sebastian didn’t see Jim for another week after that, not until the following Wednesday afternoon at lunchtime.

Lunch for that day was the usual, a small ham sandwich wrapped in tinfoil, that had spent the majority of the morning tightly concealed in Sebastian’s blazer pocket. By the time the bell rang for lunchtime the sandwich was already squashed from where the eight-year-old had accidentally sat on it, and as he sat in the school hall attempting to salvage the soggy pieces of bread, he spotted a familiar head poking out from the crowd currently lined up in the queue for hot dinners. Sebastian recognised the tuft of black hair immediately as belonging to Jim, who was still sporting his red, paper crown, which Sebastian noticed had been covered in even more sellotape since their last meeting.

He tried waving at Jim, but the smaller boy was too busy making the important decision of whether he wanted shepherd’s pie or fish fingers for his lunch that afternoon. Slightly disappointed, Sebastian continued to munch away at his sandwich, listening to the boys on the table next to him discussing the maths test that Sebastian’s class had just taken. He allowed himself to become lost in his own thoughts for a few minutes as he polished off the remainder of his food, until a sudden, heated conversation erupted from across the hall. And an all-too familiar shriek made Sebastian’s blood run cold.

“Give it back!”

Jim was still standing in the lunch queue, only this time he was no longer wearing his paper crown. The crown itself was in the hands of one of the older boys, who was currently dangling it above Jim’s head tantalisingly, whilst Jim tried and failed to snatch it back. Sebastian, alike the majority of other children in the hall, had stopped to watch the commotion unfolding, whilst the dinner-ladies barked at the crowd to stand back so that they could try and separate the two feuding boys. Only none of the children appeared to be willing to listen, all of whom instead swarmed around Jim and his counterpart, eager to catch a fight break out between the two. Sebastian was one of them, pushing frustratedly through the crowd of smaller boys as he tried to reach the front, all the time his stare fixated on Jim.

“I didn’t realise it was dress up day today,” the boy snickered, raising the paper hat up even higher in the air whilst the seven-year-old attempted to jump up and grab it.

“It’s not yours!” Jim shrieked furiously. “It’s not yours, give it back!”

“Who are you dressed up as then?” The older boy persisted, completely ignoring Jim’s cries of distress as he continued to wave the crown around carelessly, much to the pleasure of the children watching. “Or am I supposed to call you your majesty?”

“Give it-“

At first Sebastian didn’t understand why Jim had stopped midway through his sentence, nor did the rest of the onlookers, until suddenly he caught sight of the paper crown.

Or at least what was left of it.

By the time the blond realised what was happening, the older boy had already torn the crown up into several pieces, whilst all Jim could do was watch on in horror. The flimsy pieces of red paper fell to the floor, scattering around the seven-year-old’s feet as he desperately tried to pick them up and stuff them into his blazer pocket. As he stood back up, Jim’s face had turned noticeably pale in colour, and his bottom lip was beginning to wobble as though he was about to cry.

“Are you going to cry for mammy and daddy?” The boy, who was responsible for tearing up Jim’s crown, pestered mockingly, a giddy grin now curling at the edge of his lips. He took a step forward, then another, until finally he was right up against the smaller boy’s face.

“Oh, hang on… you haven’t got any.”

“You take that back!”

Before the culprit had a chance to react, Jim had already flung himself straight at him, despite the boy being much older and taller than him. He grappled at the lapels on the boy’s blazer, attempting to shove him backwards whilst the crowd eagerly egged him on in anticipation. The dinner-ladies had joined in now, ordering for the boys to stop before the headmaster would be forced to intervene, as well as Sebastian who was desperately pleading with his friend to let go before he got into any trouble, until suddenly a sharp crunch shut them all up.

The next thing he knew, Jim was on the floor, his nose now streaming with thick, hot blood, the older boy stood towering over him with a triumphant smile. The sight of Jim trembling on the ground was enough to make him feel sick with guilt, and before he could stop himself, Sebastian launched himself at the boy responsible, landing a punch straight to his mouth, which had previously been twisted into a stupid grin. The dinner ladies descended upon him soon afterwards, dragging Sebastian away from the scene as he kicked and screamed furiously, demanding for them to let go.

“He hurt my friend! Let go of me you bastards! Fuck off!” He howled, scuffing his shoes along the ground as he frantically tried to tug himself away.

Due to Sebastian’s lack of cooperation, a few more teachers had been called upon to escort the screaming boy to the headmaster’s office, the main one being the burly PE teacher, who had no trouble picking up the eight-year-old and carrying him through the crowd of onlooking children.

“Let’s go, Sebastian. Headmaster’s office, now.”

Despite his anger, Sebastian didn’t have a say in the matter, and the last glimpse he saw before being dragged out from the hall was Jim, who had since broken into a flood of tears whilst one of the dinner-ladies tended to his bloody nose with a wet cloth. He howled frustratedly at the sight, forcing the PE teacher to tighten his grip around the boy’s waist to prevent Sebastian from lashing out again and hurting anybody else. Jim was only a baby, he couldn’t protect himself. That was supposed to be Sebastian’s job, and he had failed him. Surely that was enough of a reason to be kicked out of Jim’s gang, although Sebastian secretly hoped that wouldn’t be the case. He had never seen Jim Moriarty cry before, but there was something horrible about the sight. Jim wasn’t supposed to cry.

The headmaster’s office was on the second floor of the school, just above the library. It was the second time Sebastian had been sent there, the only other time being when he had attacked Connor McKelly in the playground the previous year, resulting in Connor arriving to school the following morning with his wrist wrapped in a sling. Even to this day Sebastian still wasn’t convinced, he was a firm believer that the sling had just a stupid excuse for McKelly to sit out during their PE lessons, all whilst Sebastian had been forced to visit the school counsellor for weekly sessions to tackle his anger problems. The sessions in-question had proved less-than-helpful, and Sebastian left each time feeling even angrier than when he had first entered; the only worthwhile outcome had been the bar of chocolate and gold sticker which Sebastian had been gifted, and for the whole of the following term he had worn the sticker on his school jumper with pride. But Sebastian had a horrible feeling that the headmaster wasn’t about to give him gold sticker and praise him for his good behaviour.

He had been sat in the corridor for ten minutes now, placed uncomfortably on one of the plastic chairs lined up outside of the office, surrounded by a wall of terrible artwork and poems written by the other boys. Sebastian was sat bolt upright in his seat, composing himself just like a valiant soldier preparing for battle, watching the flow of students and teachers walk past as they resumed their normal lessons. He couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous as his own class passed by, along with their teacher, Miss Trevors, who glanced worriedly at the eight-year-old as she hurried past. He was supposed to be in an English lesson with her that afternoon, with the promise that his class would be writing their own short stories as part of a competition. The prize for winning was a cheap, plastic medal and a certificate to be handed out during that week’s assembly; the eight-year-old had been extremely keen to enter, only it seemed that the fight at lunchtime had ruined any chance of him winning.

As another five minutes passed, the crowd of students slowly started to diminish, until finally the corridor was eerily empty once more. Sebastian sniffed scornfully, his back now beginning to ache from where he had been perched on the chair for so long. He eventually caved in, curling himself up into a tight, protective ball, allowing his arms to wrap around his legs as he rocked gently back and forth. He rested his head on-top of his kneecaps, glaring at the wall opposite with a tired scowl. He had been staring at the drawings on display for so long that overtime his vision had started to grow hazy, and all of the drawings were beginning to merge into one giant mess.

At first Sebastian didn’t realise that he was no longer alone, until out of the corner of his eye he spotted a pair of skinny, pale legs standing impatiently in-front of him, and upon looking up he was greeted by the familiar sight of the seven-year-old staring down at him with a defiant pout.

“Why’d you look so sad? Did the headmaster shout at you?”

Jim’s nose was no longer bleeding, nor did he appear to be crying anymore. A wave of relief flooded through Sebastian’s chest as Jim slotted into the empty chair beside him, and he instinctively examined the boy’s face for any new cuts or bruises that may have arisen during his absence. Thankfully there were none, putting the blond’s mind at ease temporarily. His nose was still red and swollen from where it had been bashed, a few crimson flakes of blood still staining the rim of Jim’s nostrils, but apart from that Jim didn’t seem to be too scathed. As he sat there however, Sebastian could still hear sniffling from where his counterpart sat, and it dawned on him that the incident at lunchtime must have unsurprisingly taken its toll.

“Not yet,” Sebastian grunted finally in response to the Jim’s question. “How come you’re here? Are you in trouble too?”

Sebastian hoped this wasn’t the case, the last thing he wanted was for Jim to receive a punishment for something that wasn’t his fault. There came no answer at first, and when the blond turned to see what the problem was, he realised with a stab of dismay that Jim was crying again. The onslaught of tears were making his cheeks puffy and irritated, no matter how hard Jim tried tried to hide them with his blazer sleeve. His usual, boisterous mannerisms had completely faded away, and he was left looking no more than a scared, seven-year-old boy, sat outside of the headmaster’s office waiting for his fate to be decided.

“They phoned Kirstie, my foster mam, she’s coming to pick me up,” Jim explained feebly. “They told me to wait here.”

Sebastian nodded obediently, slowly shuffling forward on his seat so that he could wipe away a few, stray tears that had settled on Jim’s cheek. The seven-year-old flinched slightly at the touch, however after an initial few seconds he stopped squirming and allowed Sebastian to continue, giggling a little as the blond’s thumb tickled against his soft, baby-like skin, removing the last of the streaky tears.

“Does your nose still hurt?”

“A little,” Jim mumbled sheepishly. “You promise you won’t tell anybody I cried?”

“I promise,” Sebastian agreed firmly, letting go of Jim’s face once he was certain that the boy had stopped crying.

“I like how you attacked that boy,” The crow-haired boy continued, his lips twisting into a weak smile at the mere thought. “You broke his jaw.”

“I did?”

“…And he wouldn’t stop crying after you left. He went all faint and they had to call an ambulance.”

Sebastian groaned in despair at the revelation, gritting his teeth to prevent any ounce of emotion from accidentally pouring out. He stared down at the floor, at a particularly uninteresting strand of dust which had become entangled with his shoe lace. He quickly stamped on it, before grunting again in discontent.

“Yeah well, he deserved it… for tearing up your crown an’ everything.”

“I still have the pieces.”

Jim slowly dug into his pocket, retrieving the tattered remains of what had once been his prized crown. He gathered them carefully in his palm, the torn pieces of crumpled, red paper, before outstretching them to show Sebastian.

“There’s hardly anything left, Jim.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

The thought of the plastic medal from the writing competition flashed through Sebastian’s mind, and suddenly he broke into a cautious smile. 

“I’ll get you something better than that stupid crown, don’t worry,” he promised.

Their conversation was only short-lived, mainly because by the time Jim opened his mouth to speak, the oak door had already opened, revealing the headmaster stood squarely in the threshold. The countless years of having to deal with troublesome youngsters had certainly taken their toll on the old man, who Sebastian couldn’t help but notice looked paler and sicklier than ever. His features had been dragged down by the heavy creases and wrinkles covering his brow and lips, giving the impression that the man was permanently scowling. But with the severity of the situation, Sebastian couldn’t help but wonder if the man’s wrinkles were solely to blame.

“Sebastian, come in.”

Jim offered his friend an encouraging grin as Sebastian reluctantly got to his feet, puffing out his chest like a proud soldier as he marched towards the open door of the office. Despite his demeanour, the eight-year-old didn’t feel very much like a soldier at all. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear forever, or turn himself invisible so that nobody could ever find him.

Sebastian spotted the plate of biscuits as soon as he entered the dingy office, accompanied by the painted statue of Jesus which stood beside it, almost as if the son of God was guarding the arrangement of pink wafers laid out in-front of him. Instinctively he turned back to face Jim, feeling a little bad for leaving the boy out there by himself, but the headmaster had already closed the door behind them both and beckoned for Sebastian to take a seat. Sebastian did so obediently, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of his chair as he eyed the statue of Jesus, a small frown creasing his brow.

The figure of Jesus didn’t look very happy; for starters he was wearing a crown of thorns, which the eight-year-old suspected wasn’t very comfortable, made only worse by the fact that he was nailed to a large, wooden cross. The headmaster immediately spotted Sebastian’s confusion from across the table, and chuckled quietly as he edged the plate of biscuits towards the boy.

“You’re interested in the statue?” He asked calmly.

Sebastian, who had been about to take a bite out of one of the pink wafers, nodded shyly in agreement. He wasn’t actually interested at all in the stupid statue, he was more concerned about why Jesus had been unfairly nailed to a cross, but he hoped that the little white lie would be enough to keep him from having to endure another detention, or an even worse punishment. Despite being enrolled in a Catholic school, Sebastian didn’t understand what was so wonderful about religion. It was a confusing, boring subject, with a whole stupid rulebook on what you could and couldn’t do. The blond, alike some of the other boys, enjoyed conveying his displeasure when it came to the yearly church services that the school attended, by making rude gestures towards the Priest in charge of the service, until one of the teachers, usually Miss Trevors, snapped at him to behave.

“It represents Jesus’ crucifixion,” the headmaster continued, whilst Sebastian dared to take a bite from the biscuit in his hand. “The fact that he died for our sins.”

“Sin?”

“An immoral act… Something bad.”

Sebastian lowered the half-eaten wafer, placing it back onto the plate in-front of him. The statue of Jesus was still staring right at him, Sebastian was tempted to tell it to fuck off.

“Does that mean I sinned at lunchtime?” He asked nervously.

The headmaster clenched his jaw, having clearly expected the question at some point during their conversation. He sighed, leaning back against his own chair as he massaged his brow with his fingertips.

“I suppose we ought to discuss what happened, yes,” he decided curtly, clearing his throat as he lowered his hand and addressed the eight-year-old. “As you already know, during lunchtime there was an altercation in which you broke another boy’s jaw-“

“-I only did it ‘cos I was protecting Jim,” Sebastian blurted out abruptly.

The headmaster sighed at the interruption, but to Sebastian’s surprise he didn’t shout. He had heard tall tales from the other boys that a few Christmases ago the headmaster’s wife had left him for another lady, and ever since then he had developed a cruel hatred for children. But whether the story was true or not was beyond Sebastian; the old man didn’t seem to be very angry in the slightest, in-fact the blond would even have gone as far as to call him nice.

“Usually with this type of incident I’d have no choice but to expel you, Sebastian. You and I both know this isn’t the first case where another boy has gotten hurt…”

Sebastian waited with baited breath, his heart dropping at the mere thought of expulsion.

“…But from what I hear, you’re a bright boy. I know Miss Trevors is particularly fond of your creative writing, which is why I’m going to enter you into the school’s creative writing competition this week. I think it’s a good chance for you to showcase some of your talent and who knows, perhaps you’ll even win.”

In the end, Sebastian got away with only a day’s suspension, and a spare pink wafer which he had stolen shortly before leaving the headmaster’s office. He was still munching contently on the biscuit as he stepped out into the corridor, and to his surprise, and secret delight, Jim was sat waiting for him, only this time he was accompanied by somebody else. The person in question wasn’t a student, but a short, plump woman, who Sebastian recognised from the family portrait he had spotted hung up on the wall in Jim’s house. She must have been Kirstie, Jim’s foster mother.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did he shout at you?” Jim persisted worriedly, waving frantically for the eight-year-old to come and join them. “Did you get expelled?”

Sebastian instantly shook his head, a grin spreading across his lips as he flopped down onto the seat beside Jim, handing the remainder of the biscuit to his friend.

“Neither,” he confirmed promptly. “I got a day’s suspension, that’s all.”

He looked between the smaller boy and his mother of-sorts, but in spite of his relief he still couldn’t help but raise a sceptical eyebrow. 

“But why are you still here?”

It was Jim’s foster mother who spoke up first, a tender smile playing on her lips as she observed Sebastian. Her cheeks were bright and rosy, just like they had been in the photograph; the woman was wearing a red, knitted cardigan, her grey hair tied up in a loose bun, all while still carrying the same scent of lavender that Sebastian recognised from his visit to the house. She was a fairly old woman too, judging by the wrinkles on her face and the faded colour of her hair, and looked a bit bigger than she had done in the photograph, but Sebastian decided not to comment on it.

“James wanted to invite you round for tea,” she explained softly, earning a glare of embarrassment from Jim.

“He’s told me all about you.”

Sebastian’s cheeks burned red with uneasiness at Kirstie’s explanation, and he could feel his gaze drifting down to the ground as he tried to avoid eye contact with the older woman.

“O-Oh.”

“Don’t worry, dear, he hasn’t told me anything too terrible,” Kirstie assured him kindly, a hint of amusement fluttering in her voice.

It made a nice change, to have a woman, other than his teacher, speak to him in such a manner. Sebastian wasn’t sure if he had any other relatives or not; neither his father or mother had ever spoken of any distant aunts or uncles lurking about in the shadows, or perhaps even a cousin who the eight-year-old might be able to play with. Surely he must have had grandparents at some point, even if they weren’t alive anymore, but Sebastian had no recollection of either a potential grandmother or grandfather, or anybody else for that matter. But he was growing to like Jim’s foster mother, even despite them having only known each other for a brief few minutes, and he could tell by the look in Jim’s eyes that he liked her too.

Brian, Jim’s foster father, was English, as Sebastian discovered when the four of them sat around the dining table for tea that evening. He was a funny man, funny in the sense that as Kirstie was busy dishing up their plates of spaghetti bolognese he wouldn’t stop telling jokes to the two adoring boys watching. A lot of his jokes were about maths; Sebastian didn’t understand them, but Jim kept shrieking with laughter so he supposed they must be funny, though for the most part they were jokes about Kirstie’s cooking.

His accent made the man sound extremely posh, the way he pronounced each syllable so sharply, and how sometimes he clicked his tongue after finishing a sentence. According to Brian, he had lived in London for all of his childhood, and had only met Kirstie after travelling to Dublin to study maths at university. Kirstie couldn’t have children, which was why the pair unanimously agreed to stay in Ireland and foster together.

Sebastian was only half-listening to the explanation, for the most-part he was far more interested in the large plate of spaghetti bolognese sat in-front of him than the stories of Brian’s adventures at university. Whilst he was busy wolfing down his own plate of food ungracefully, Jim on the other hand looked bored out of his mind, and was currently dribbling a meatball around his plate with his fork. Jim had barely touched his own dinner, and it wouldn’t have surprised Sebastian if he had already heard the story a million times before, although it seemed like the smaller boy wasn’t the only one distracted. From across the table Sebastian spotted Jim’s foster mother observing him closely, attempting to hide her concern with a warm smile.

“Hungry, love?” She asked, leaning across the table to pass the eight-year-old a napkin to clean his dirty face.

Sebastian hastily took the napkin in question, placing down his fork so that he could politely clean the sauce staining his lips.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, swallowing his last mouthful of food before offering an apologetic smile to the surrounding family.

Kirstie quickly dismissed the apology, flashing a reassuring smile to their new guest. Though everybody else’s plates were already empty, Jim’s was still left virtually untouched, and the older woman lightly tapped the boy’s hand, shooting him a silent indication to finish his own dinner. After some heavy reluctance, Jim finally gave in and picked up his fork, just as his foster mother continued with her sentence.

“Don’t you worry… I’m glad _somebody_ enjoys my cooking for once,” she murmured playfully, discreetly elbowing her husband in the side of the ribs, causing him to chuckle.

“So, James tells us you live with your father?”

“I live at number forty two, just a few houses down,” Sebastian agreed.

“Oh, you’re the Morans’ boy,” Brian chipped in cheerfully from the other side of the table, his eyes lighting up at the realisation of just who exactly Sebastian was. “I used to know your mother.”

The mention of Sebastian’s mother caused the boy to go oddly silent, and his change in expression must have been noticeable, as it caused Jim to look up from his food, and scowl immediately.

“Don’t talk about his mother, he doesn’t like it!” The seven-year-old shrieked fiercely, leaning in protectively against Sebastian as he clutched to the boy’s arm.

Both Kirstie and Brian appeared startled by the sudden attack, however before either adult had a chance to speak, Jim had already taken hold of Sebastian’s hand and dragged him to his feet, frog-marching the eight-year-old to the door before any questions could be asked.

“I’m taking Sebastian up to my bedroom. I want to show him my toys.”

There was no argument - mainly because both the older man and woman felt rather guilty for having accidentally upset their guest. Jim led the way, past the cream carpets and countless, ugly decor, until finally they made it upstairs towards the row of bedrooms. Sebastian was still quiet as they walked, his fingernails digging into the fabric of his blazer as he tried to calm himself down. Since leaving the dining room, his face had turned red like a tomato, and even Jim was eager to avoid another meltdown, which was why he still had a firm hold of Sebastian’s arm as he guided the boy through the hallway.

Jim’s bedroom was immediately recognisable by the scratch marks and swear words plastered all-over the door, which appeared to have been covered by thick layers of white paint in a desperate attempt to try and hide them. The scratch marks looked far too old to belong to Jim, so Sebastian assumed they must have been done by one of the previous children living there, along with the slight dents from where somebody must have undoubtably kicked or punched at the woodwork. Admittedly the eight-year-old was a little alarmed by the excess of swear words etched onto the door, some of them he hadn’t even heard of before, however Jim remained unfazed, and it wasn’t long until he pulled Sebastian into the room with him.

“You can sit on my bed if you’d like, they won’t disturb us. I promise.”

The inside of Jim’s bedroom was bigger than Sebastian had envisioned it to be, and he felt an instant wave of jealousy as his eyes trailed around the bright blue walls and huge stacks of books and toys. The bedroom was extremely messy, mostly from where books and newspaper clippings had been strewn all across the carpet, all of which appeared to cover astrophysics and advanced trigonometry, apart from one book of Grimm fairytales which stuck out like a sore thumb. Sebastian would have questioned Jim on his choice of books, if Jim hadn’t already crawled onto his bed and beckoned for Sebastian to join him. And not wanting to disappoint, Sebastian obediently followed after the smaller boy, climbing up the small ladder and onto the high-sleeper to join him.

Jim’s bed was higher up than the rest of the bedroom, allowing for a perfect view of the room below. His walls, alike Sebastian’s, were covered in an array of different posters, only this time they depicted complicated maths theorems and diagrams of stars and planets, and the writing at the bottom of each made it clear that they had been stolen from the University of Dublin.

The seven-year-old was hugging to one of his pillows, and for a brief moment Sebastian caught a glimpse of the palm of his hand. The bandages were long-gone, but Jim had been left with a long, striped red scar across his skin, exactly the same as Sebastian had on his own hand.

“Did they get angry?” Sebastian asked suddenly, his voice still no louder than a murmur as he gestured to Jim’s hand. “When they saw the cut?”

Jim let go of the pillow, and glanced down to his own hand in surprise. He flexed his fingers thoughtfully, shrugging as he admired the scar spread across his palm.

“Kirstie got upset when she saw it, she said it was a stupid thing to do.”

Sebastian sniffed scornfully at the mention of Jim’s foster mother, sinking back against the bedsheets whilst he allowed his thoughts to drift. His school uniform made it hard to make himself comfortable, and with a grunt of defeat Sebastian tugged off his blazer and loosened his tie, dumping his jacket on the empty space beside them.

He wasn’t aware that he had started crying, not until it dawned on him that his eyes were starting to sting, and that his cheeks were suddenly wet and sore. The thought of his own mother alone had been enough to set him off, and before he knew it Sebastian had broken into an onslaught of tears, bowing his head out of shame to try and hide them. It was the thought of where she might be now that frightened the eight-year-old; whether his mother was roaming the streets on her own, or whether she had a brand new family to take care of. Somehow the latter seemed far worse to Sebastian. He didn’t want to be replaced, especially not whilst he and his father were the ones left behind.

Sebastian had been crying for a minute or so before he felt something heavy on his lap, and upon looking up he realised it was Jim, who had proceeded to wrap his arms tightly around the taller boy’s waist, practically suffocating him. Slowly, Sebastian found himself beginning to calm at the touch; his breathing slowed, and after a long snivel he dared to pull away from the hug, staring at Jim with a furrowed brow.

“What was that for?”

“What was what for?”

“The hug.”

“You were sad… Didn’t you like it?”

“I-"

Sebastian wiped the rest of his tears without finishing the rest of his sentence, shuffling away from the smaller boy so that he could try to compose himself. He was a little embarrassed for allowing Jim to see him cry like that, then again it was only fair considering Jim had cried earlier that lunchtime. Now they were both even, there was no disputing it.

“I know what will cheer you up,” Jim suggested suddenly, clambering down from the high-sleeper before his counterpart even had a chance to stop him.

When Sebastian raised an eyebrow, the seven-year-old merely grinned, flopping down in-front of his toy box as he opened the lid and began to rummage around inside. Sebastian peered down from the bed with great interest, attempting to see what Jim was doing, and as soon as Jim retrieved what he had been looking for Sebastian scrambled down from the bed to join him.

“Is that for me?” He asked shyly.

“Only if you want it.”

In Jim’s hand was an action figure; a small army man covered in camouflage and clutching to a black, model gun. Sebastian wouldn’t have put Jim down as the type of boy to enjoy playing with toy soldiers, but the entirety of the toy box appeared filled with plastic army-men and toy dinosaurs, a sight which made Sebastian’s heart leap with excitement.

“I don’t like playing with toys,” Jim continued, handing the soldier over to Sebastian, who carefully held it in his arms as if it was some sort of sacred treasure. “…You can keep it if you want.”

The blond smiled feverishly as he examined the toy, brushing his thumb over the toy gun, as well as the green, camouflage-patterned jacket which the soldier was dressed in. He gently placed the toy to one side to prevent it from getting damaged, before pulling Jim into an excited hug in return. Jim giggled as Sebastian suddenly squeezed his waist, the shrill sound of his laughter filling the room until finally Sebastian let go, feeling a little awkward at his own actions.

“Do you like it here?” He found himself asking finally, the question which he had been desperate to ask ever since dinnertime.

“I dunno,” Jim, who had quickly stopped laughing, shrugged in reply. “Silly ‘Bastian, why’re you asking?.. Aren’t you happy?”

Sebastian didn’t reply at first, which Jim took as an opportunity to swiftly continue on with his sentence.

“I already told you, I’m not staying. I’m gonna find my real parents one day.”

“But what if they don’t like you?”

“Of course they’ll like me, doofus,” Jim scolded disapprovingly, rolling his eyes at the stupid nature of the question. “They’re my parents, they _have_ to like me.”

They played games in Jim’s bedroom for the rest of the evening until it got dark, with Sebastian’s new action figure fighting against one of the toy dinosaurs that Jim had plucked from his toy box. Despite Jim’s protests, the mutual decision was eventually made that the soldier had won the fight; one, because he had a gun and could easily shoot the dinosaur, and two, because dinosaurs had been extinct for millions of years anyway. Sebastian was in particularly high spirits now, not only because of his recent victory in terms of acquiring the toy soldier, but because Jim had remarkably managed to cheer him up. Suddenly the incident at lunchtime and the memories of his mother were no longer there to trouble his conscience. The only thing on his mind was Jim. His new best friend.

Their incessant shrieks of laughter continued on for what seemed like forever, until they were finally stopped when there came a gentle knock on the door, and both Sebastian and Jim stopped what they were doing just as Kirstie entered through the threshold. She was no longer wearing her red cardigan, but a silk dressing gown which was tied tightly around her waist with string. The sight of both boys playing together caused her to immediately smile, and she lingered thoughtfully in the doorway whilst watching them.

Jim, already knowing what the older woman was about to say, groaned at once in protest, and folded his arms defiantly.

“Does Sebastian have to go home now?”

Kirstie deliberated momentarily, opening her mouth before eventually deciding against what she was originally going to say. It had been a long day for them both, and the sight of Jim’s still-bruised face made her sigh uncomfortably. It was late, and frankly way past both Sebastian and Jim’s bedtimes, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to send home Sebastian just yet. Instead, she shook her head, and stepped back to give the boys some space. They were happy after all, and who was she to take that away from them?

“Well, I suppose five more minutes won’t hurt.”


	5. Going For Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian is excited to attend St Matthew's final rugby match of the season, however his plans are disrupted when Jim makes an unexpected appearance.

“Read your story to me again.”

“But you’ve already heard it five times.”

“Well I want to hear it again since you’re so clever.”

The afternoon air was hot as Jim lounged comfortably against the grass of the school playing fields, toying with the plastic gold medal in his hands. Sebastian sat accompanying him, a crumpled piece of paper outstretched in his own larger hands, covered in messy writing which he had been reciting for the past hour or so. The writing depicted Sebastian’s entry for the creative writing competition, which he had come first place in as of earlier that morning. Naturally Jim had been keen to hear the winning short story for himself, and had badgered Sebastian non-stop until finally the eight-year-old gave in and agreed to read it out.

_“The king was the most feared man in the whole kingdom. He had chocolate brown eyes and black hair like soot. He wore a crimson red robe and a shiny crown that glistened in the sunlight, and all the people of Ireland were scared of him. The king wanted to prove how brave he was and decided to kill the biggest, strongest, scaliest dragon in the whole kingdom. One day word spread that a dragon was on its way to attack the king’s castle. It was a gigantic, red monster, with pointy scales and teeth as sharp as knives. The angry dragon attacked the castle with fiery breath but the king wasn’t scared of anything. He stabbed it in the heart with his shimmering sword and saved the day. The king became a hero, and the whole kingdom renamed him the dragon killer. By Sebastian Moran, aged eight.”_

The ‘king’ in Sebastian’s story was a not-so-subtle reference to Jim, which Jim quite clearly understood judging by how much he had expressed his adoration for the character. The blond had read the story out to his smaller counterpart six times now, and was admittedly beginning to grow rather frustrated of having to read the same words over and over again, but thankfully Jim seemed to now be satisfied, and was busy entertaining himself with the gold medal. Sebastian didn’t mind giving up his prize to Jim; it was only a small price to pay, and he had promised to replace Jim’s crown after all. The medal wasn’t quite the same as a crown, but since it was plastic it meant that it would be much harder for any idiots to break it.

“But Ireland doesn’t have a king,” Dean commented skeptically from where he had been eavesdropping on the conversation, a can of red spray-paint clutched firmly in his grip.

“Not yet anyway,” Jim retorted sourly, huffing in discontent as he slipped the medal over his neck, hanging it proudly in-front of his school tie so that it was on full display.

Dean and Pip had both flocked to the playing fields as fast as they could after Jim had called for an ‘urgent meeting’ that afternoon. The ‘urgency’ of the meet-up meant that Dean was still wearing his rugby uniform, having arrived straight from practice; he was wearing what had once been a striped blue and white jersey, only it had become so worn and filthy with mud over the course of the year that the colours were barely recognisable anymore. Sebastian noticed that practice took place most, if not every, day now, and often whenever he saw Dean he looked exhausted from all of the extra training. St. Matthew’s were playing against the neighbouring grammar school the following Friday, and if they won then they would get to bring home the prize trophy with them. Sebastian planned on going to watch, though whenever he had broached the subject to Jim, the smaller boy made his displeasure clear by pretending to gag.

“Why are we doing this again?”It was Pip’s turn to speak now. He spoke with a stubborn drawl, unconvinced by the blue spray paint canister that had been placed against his will in his own palm.

“Lighten up for once, Pip.” Jim rolled his eyes at the older boy. “I already told you, we’re marking our territory after what happened on Wednesday.”

“You’re risking getting us all into trouble just because Elliot Thompson tore up your crown?”

“Exactly, idiot. I didn’t realise you were such a crybaby.”

Unsurprisingly it had been Jim’s idea to graffiti the wall, embellishing it with the bold statement ‘ _LONG LIVE THE GROSVENOR GANG’_. The seven-year-old calculated that they only had around another ten minutes before one of the teachers would undoubtably catch them, and Dean and Pip were hastily attempting to spray on the final few letters of their masterpiece before time ran out, all whilst under the watchful surveillance of the gang’s ringleader.

Word of the incident at lunchtime had spread around the school like wildfire, and that week Sebastian had found himself a primary target of taunts and gossiping from his fellow classmates. He hadn’t been the only one to receive abuse; Jim was also in the firing line, only the insults hurled at him were a little different. Sebastian had been there on the odd occasion when the children in the playground had tormented the boy for living with a foster family, and when they had made fun of Kirstie when she arrived at the school gates to pick Jim up. They called her names like ‘hippo’, and ‘granny’ because of her grey hair. Each time she simply shook it off with a smile and the gentle reminder that ‘ _boys will be boys_ ’, but sometimes Sebastian caught the tiniest glimpse of sadness in her eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the woman.

“Well… that’s the last of it.”

The metal tins of spray-paint clattered to the ground, and both Dean and Pip stood back to admire their handiwork. The wall was covered predominantly in red paint, meaning that for the most-part it was Dean who had done all of the hard work. Pip had spent the majority of the time muttering furiously under his breath, much to the disapproval of Jim who had overheard every single word, too scared to even rest his thumb against the nozzle of the can in-case the noise accidentally alerted one of the teachers to their whereabouts.

“What d’you think, Jim?” Dean asked cockily, folding his arms across his chest as he waited for the seven-year-old’s approval.

Jim looked up from where he had been toying with the medal, half-expecting a grand display of bright colours and light like Dublin’s very own Michelangelo. Instead he was greeted with a lousy muddle of red and blue writing, where the paintwork was smudged and the letters were barely even decipherable. There was no way in Hell that stupid Elliot Thompson or any of the other boys would be able to read the graffiti or be even the slightest ounce intimidated by the warning, and there was also an added problem-

“I think you’ve spelt Grosvenor wrong.”

Sebastian snickered from where he was sat beside the raven-haired boy, earning a glare of annoyance from Pip. Admittedly Sebastian still didn’t know much about Pip, apart from that he liked punching walls and that his father was in prison for assaulting a police-officer. Whilst Dean was pale with ginger hair, Pip’s appearance was perhaps the opposite; his skin was noticeably a lot more tanned than the rest of them, with chestnut-brown hair and round-rimmed glasses which sat perched on the end of his nose. He wasn’t that bright of a boy, nor was he particularly charming, but not some reason Jim enjoyed having him around. Maybe it was because of Pips’s obsession with punching inanimate objects.

After attempting to correct their mistake on the wall, and doing an embarrassingly bad job of it, Dean shoved the canisters of spray-paint back into his schoolbag before grabbing for his bike handlebars. The remaining three boys all followed suit, swiping their backpacks and blazers from the floor and attempting to brush away the grass-stains. Their bikes had all been dumped against the sports shed whilst they wallowed in the heat of the afternoon, and were laying in a cluttered heap when the four went to collect them. Sebastian felt an air of pride as he spotted his own bike, where the glossy, red paintwork was still glistening in the evening sun, accompanied by Jim’s slightly more expensive green one. 

“Hey, you two, you’re still coming on Friday, right?” Dean grinned hopefully, leaning over his handlebars so that he could address both Sebastian and James.

“To what exactly?“

“To my rugby match,” The red-haired boy continued. “It’s St Matthew’s against that posh school in Ashbourne.”

“Can’t,” Jim dismissed bluntly, tying the arms of his blazer around his waist so that he wouldn’t have to endure the burden of carrying it home. “The final issue of my X-Men comic is coming out and Brian said he’d take me to buy it.”

“But what about my match?”

“-Come on Jim, it’ll be fun,” Sebastian chipped in optimistically. “Plus it’s only a comic, you can read it some other time.”

“Last time I checked you weren’t on the rugby team, ‘Bastian,” Jim retorted resentfully, shooting Sebastian a glare as he mounted his own bike, resting his foot on top of the left pedal.

“Rugby’s a stupid game anyway. I’m not coming.”

The eight-year-old was left somewhat disappointed by Jim’s retaliation, though he didn’t have any time to react before his counterpart had already cycled off in a defiant strop. With a sulky growl, Sebastian tugged on his blazer and watched as the figure of Jim gradually disappeared down one of the back-alleys that led to Grosvenor Street, the gold medal still bouncing around on-top of his school uniform. He wasn’t alone; both Dean and Pip had stopped to watch Jim’s departure too, only unlike Sebastian they remained unfazed, as if by now they had already been forced to witness countless of the seven-year-old’s temper tantrums. This one was nothing new.

“So does that mean you’re coming, Sebastian?” Dean asked once the coast was finally clear, approaching the remaining blond.

“Yeah I s’pose,” Sebastian grunted, feeling a little awkward now that Jim wasn’t there. Jim always knew what to say, whether it was witty or just borderline insulting. Sebastian unfortunately didn’t possess that magical ability, especially not when it came to talking to boys like Dean who were much older and more respectable than himself, and he could already feel a wave of embarrassment flooding through his conscience.

“Brilliant! Tickets are fifty pence each, make sure to wear blue and white and _nothing_ red.”

Dean patted Sebastian against his shoulder, causing the hairs on the back of the boy’s neck to shiver slightly. He attempted a feeble smile towards the redhead, though thankfully a shrill screech of disapproval interrupted them before he had the chance to speak any further, and it quickly became evident that the shouting was coming from one of the upstairs classrooms.

“Boys! That area is restricted!”

Sebastian recognised the streaks of dyed blonde highlights as belonging to Miss Trevors, which was even more of a reason to flee from the playing fields as quickly as possible. Without much thinking he mounted his bike, pedalling as fast as his legs would allow in an attempt to catch up with Dean and Pip who were already metres ahead. Miss Trevors’ demands for them to stop floated through the air, however soon enough Sebastian and the two older boys had broken free from the crime scene and were already halfway down the road. The eight-year-old could hear the canisters of paint rattling around in the compartment of Dean’s backpack, and he smiled a little to himself as he spotted the crumpled remains of his creative writing entry tucked away inside his own blazer pocket. His _winning_ entry.

When the following Friday rolled around, the playing fields were swarming with a sea of students, all of whom were donned in their best white and blue clothing to show their support. Sebastian couldn’t recall a time when he had ever seen the fields as busy as this, apart from a few years ago when the police had found a dead body underneath one of the bushes and everybody had gathered to see for themselves, and the atmosphere surrounding the playing fields certainly matched the number of onlookers. The excited chatter and chanting from the stands could undoubtably be heard from more than a mile away, and all of the spectators stood in eager anticipation of what was to come. Not only were the majority of boys from St Matthew’s there, but Sebastian recognised a few familiar faces from the all-girls school also mingling within the crowd. He assumed Pip must be amongst them somewhere, after the brunette had snuck off not-long after their initial arrival with the bogus excuse that he needed to ‘meet a friend.’

Sebastian wasn’t especially bothered by Pip’s mysterious disappearance, in-fact he was rather grateful that the older boy was watching the match elsewhere, likely alongside the company of one of the Catholic girls. Sebastian would have searched the crowd for him, but the of abundance face-paint and banners meant that it would be practically impossible to locate the boy, and besides he didn’t really care.

In the end Sebastian had settled upon a blue, striped scarf and hoodie for himself, contemplating the idea of painting his face before deciding that would be a tad too excessive. He stood near to the back of the crowd, having arrived late after sneaking to the chip shop first to help himself to some dinner. His father was out at the pub again that evening, making it the third night in a row, but on the plus side it meant that Sebastian could waltz home at whatever time he wanted without fearing punishment, a regime which he had grown used to as of late.

The spectators from Ashbourne Grammar School all stood on the opposite side of the pitch, creating a fierce blue-red divide between themselves and the crowd from St Matthews. Practically all of the opposition were wearing some kind of red garment, whether it was face-paint, jerseys, or even wooly hats and scarves. As of yet no fights had broken out, apart from a small scuffle at the entrance when Sebastian had first arrived, although as well as excitement there was a noticeable cloud of tension surrounding the air. A lot of the spectators were teenagers from the upper years, some of whom were already piss-faced, and Sebastian knew from experience that alcohol mixed in with competition never ended well, and by the end of the evening somebody would end up with a black-eye.

Jim still hadn’t turned up either. Despite having make a grand statement earlier about his dislike of the sport, Sebastian still hoped that the raven-haired boy would come to his senses and decide to attend. It was a stupid wish really, and the eight-year-old was well-aware about the dangers of getting his hopes up, but watching the match by himself didn’t have the same level of appeal as watching it with friends. Especially Jim, who he knew would have a lot of amusing things to say about the game.

By the time the half time whistle rung, St Matthews were dominating Ashbourne Grammar School. The crowd of blue onlookers were ecstatic, and a couple of times Sebastian had managed to catch a glimpse of Dean on the pitch, who by half-time was looking extremely sweaty and out of breath, but happy nevertheless. He had made sure to cheer extra loudly whenever Dean scored a try, joining the other spectators in their whistles and chants:

_“Mighty St Matthew’s! Mighty St Matthew’s! Bring us home the trophy!”_

As the players trailed off to get themselves something to eat and drink before the second half, Sebastian carefully snuck past the gaggle of spectators so that he could find a secluded spot for himself. The majority of onlookers had already left to help themselves to a quick cigarette fix, or head somewhere a little more discreet with the girls from the all-girls school, and the eight-year-old could’ve sworn that he’d spotted Pip sneaking off hand-in-hand with a curly-haired girl who he’d never seen before.

Out of his pocket he retrieved his toy army-man, the same one which Jim had gifted him the previous week. He’d picked up the habit of carrying it around with him virtually everywhere he went, and as he perched on the edge of one of the plastic benches Sebastian dangled the toy soldier in-front of his face, examining it with narrowed eyes whilst the bustling crowd chattered around him. His train of concentration however was swiftly interrupted when two clearly-older teenagers came to squeeze into the spot beside him. They were giggling and making odd noises which Sebastian couldn’t comprehend, and when he tried to sneak a glimpse at them he realised to his dismay that they were in-fact kissing one another, and that the boy had slipped his hand rather inappropriately underneath the girl’s blouse. She immediately shrieked with laughter at the touch, and the boy in-turn returned a teasing grin, before out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sebastian staring straight at them and his smile quickly dropped.

“Piss off, blondie.”

Sebastian did as he was told without an argument, shoving the army-man furiously back into his pocket and storming from the stand. He was tempted to search for Pip, or even sneak his way into the changing rooms to find Dean, but the threat of the rugby coach catching him was enough to put him off of the idea completely. In the end, he simply settled in a spot on the grass, whilst the cheers from the crowd refilled the air as the players from both schools all marched back onto the pitch. The cheering was less noticeable from the Ashbourne spectators, who all appeared disheartened and stony-faced after the catastrophic first half, and the crowd from St Matthew’s took advantage of their despair by cat-calling and making rude gestures from the other side of the pitch.

Dean was amongst the army of blue, a confident grin etched at his lips as he re-entered the pitch. The entirety of his clothes were drenched in thick mud, some of which had made its way onto his face and kneecaps. Sebastian was almost surprised at how calm the redhead was, especially since their opposition had returned this time with a vengeance. A part of him envied Dean, whilst the other admired him. He knew that with enough determination and hard work he’d make it onto the rugby team too one day, only he’d never be anything like the older boy. In truth Sebastian was extremely jealous of Dean, from his confidence, to his athleticism, and even his good looks. Only the latter was something that he didn’t quite want to admit.

The starting whistle blew, and as the players entered into a scrum, the eight-year-old felt a sharp tap on his shoulder.

He grunted immediately and attempted to swat the hand away, only for his scowl to soften once he realised who was stood behind him. And to his relief, it wasn’t a rival spectator.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I need your help with something.”

“Pip’s got a girlfriend.”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

Jim was wedged awkwardly between the mob of onlookers, clearly uncomfortable at being forced into such a crowded situation. The spectators were all cheering and jumping about, meaning that the poor raven-haired boy kept getting jostled around, losing his footing on occasion and accidentally colliding with a pack of older girls. Realising Jim’s discomfort, Sebastian hastily pulled his friend aside to prevent him from accidentally getting crushed, all while simultaneously attempting to keep an eye on the game so that he didn’t miss anything.

“You’ve already missed the first half. It was brilliant,” the eight-year-old rambled breathlessly, joining the rest of the crowd in watching avidly as a fight broke out on the pitch. It was only short-lived and resulted in one of the Ashbourne players being sent off in a flood of anger, earning a chorus of booing from the spectators. “…Dean scored two goal kicks. You should have seen it.”

When there came no response, Sebastian glanced down towards his smaller counterpart, only to discover that Jim hadn’t been listening in the first place.

He realised only then that Jim looked as sick as a dog, and it wasn’t because of the rugby match at-hand. He was toying anxiously with the medal still wrapped around his neck, so much so that the ribbon was starting to scuff at the back of his skin, leaving behind red, angry scratch-marks. It must have been something bad if it meant that Jim had had to miss out on buying his precious comic book, especially something as important as X-Men which he knew the seven-year-old treasured dearly. But Jim’s whole body was trembling, and Sebastian’s heart hammered with unease as he tried to decipher why.

“Where’s Pip?” The raven-haired boy demanded.

“Dunno, I saw him sneak off earlier with this girl with curly hair.“

“Well I need him,” Jim interrupted abruptly. “I need to call a gang meeting, it’s urgent.”

Another cheer resonated from the crowd, and Sebastian realised with a stab of regret that he had missed Dean scoring yet another goal. He attempted a last-minute clap, but Jim hastily tugged on his sleeve to regain the boy’s drifting focus, growling impatiently.

“You can’t call a gang meeting, Pip’s not here, an’ if you haven’t noticed, Dean’s playing in the match. Can’t this wait?”

“I hurt Elliot Thompson.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I’ve done something bad, ‘Bastian.”

Sebastian, who yet again had been trying to sneak a glimpse of the match, froze immediately at the words from his counterpart. It quickly became evident that he and Jim were the only ones not cheering on St Matthew’s as they prepared to take their final winning kick, but the eight-year-old had been so distracted by Jim’s declaration that he hadn’t even noticed.

“You’re bluffing.”

“I didn’t mean to, I thought I had it all worked out.”

“Jim, what are you talking about-"

“-Page fifty six of my chemistry book. I-It mentioned about Strychnine, I thought a small dosage would be enough just to frighten him a little, y’know for destroying my crown.”

“Strychnine?”

“Rat poison,” Jim continued, his tone raising the more hysterical he became. “I found it in the shed, along with the tins of paint. Brian keeps a bottle of it just in-case we ever need to use it. It wasn’t hard to reach, I just had to climb up onto one of the shelves. He didn’t even notice it was missing.”

Worried that the smaller boy was beginning to draw attention to them both, Sebastian hastily tugged off his scarf and shoved it into Jim’s open palms before he could protest. His own hands were trembling as he handed the seven-year-old the garment, but thankfully if anybody questioned him it would be easy enough to blame it on the cold. The eight-year-old’s mind was ringing with the thought of rat poison, something which he had seen numerous times before in his own house tucked away in the cupboard underneath the stairs. It certainly wouldn’t have been hard for Jim to obtain such a thing, but that didn’t stop Sebastian hoping that this was all just some big, conjured-up lie.

“Put this on, it’ll make you stand out less.”

Jim was highly skeptical, but did as he was told nevertheless. He quickly wrapped the knitted scarf around his neck, snivelling fearfully as he did so. The sight of Jim close to tears reminded Sebastian considerably of the day in the school hall when the smaller boy’s crown had been torn up, and they had both been forced to sit outside of the headmaster’s office. Elliot had waltzed away scot-free that day, and whilst Sebastian was still angered by the memory, it still wasn’t good enough of a reason to harm the boy. 

“You fed Elliot Thompson rat poison?” He whispered finally, earning a few disapproving nudges from the older students around him, all of whom signalled for the boy to be quiet so that they didn’t miss the end of the match.

“Not fed it to him. I snuck it in to his glass of orange juice when he was queuing up for school dinners.”

“But he hasn’t been at school since Tuesday afternoon.”

“And you think that’s just a coincidence, doofus?”

Before Jim could say another word, a deafening chorus of cheering erupted from the stands, and Sebastian looked up just in time to see the rugby ball hurtling over the top of the goalposts. It was the St Matthew’s supporters who were celebrating, all jumping over each-other like wild animals and chanting at the top of their lungs. It was the same highly-energetic chant as before, only this time around the lyrics had been altered slightly.

_“Mighty St Matthew’s! Mighty St Matthew’s! You've brought us home the trophy!”_

They had won - only Sebastian suddenly didn’t feel like celebrating. He could just about make out Dean, who had rejoined the rest of his team on the pitch to be presented with their trophy, grinning madly as he hoisted the award high up into the air. He looked as though he was having the time of his life, and Sebastian would have attempted a feeble smile, only he could feel Jim’s weight resting against him, reminding him that there were more important matters to focus on. Like the fact that the pea-brain, Elliot, might be dead.

Once the photographs had all been snapped for the following morning’s edition of the school newsletter, Dean marched his way off of the pitch to meet with Sebastian and Jim, closely flanked in-tow by Pip. Pip looked rather flustered despite having not seven participated in the match, and Sebastian could spot the faint trace of a pink lipstick-mark smeared across his neck, however it was nothing compared to Dean. The redhead was practically dripping from head to toe in sweat; his face was swamped in mud stains, and the occasional droplet of blood from where he had suffered a nasty collision with the other plays during the scrum. Despite his war wounds, in his hands Dean clutched to a large trophy, where the bright floodlights reflected against the golden metal, causing it to glisten in the light. It was easily the biggest trophy that Sebastian had ever seen in his entire life, all for a stupid game of rugby.

“Cheer up, idiots, we just won!” The rugby-player cried enthusiastically, laughing at the two smaller boy’s gaunt expressions in disbelief, before punching them both boisterously against their shoulders. “Those Ashbourne lot are furious… I overheard them saying that they’re gonna beat up the spectators on our side. We ought to go before it gets too rowdy.”

Jim winced at the punch, and upon noticing his discomfort Sebastian hastily outstretched his own hand to gently rub the boy’s arm. Jim smiled at the soothing touch, for perhaps the first time that evening, and to the blond’s relief Dean was thankfully too distracted with the trophy in his hands to even notice. Once Jim was no longer in pain, Sebastian obediently let go, his mind still racing with the though of what the seven-year-old had just revealed to him, leaving him distant and confused.

Should they tell Dean and Pip the truth? Or did they already know? Had they acted as Jim’s accomplices this whole time?

“We were gonna go grab some chips and then go back to mine. Are you two coming or are you too busy moping around?” The red-haired boy asked warily, lowering the trophy as he observed the two younger boys with a raised eyebrow. He could tell that something was bothering them, only he was so caught up in his own victory that his head was still swimming with memories of the match.

“You know what, nevermind, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

It may have been a wasted opportunity, and Sebastian was sure that he would regret it by the time the following morning rolled around, but in a way he was glad that Dean and Pip had decided to leave them in favour of chips from the chip shop. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in-front of the redhead, which he knew was inescapable, and if he accidentally let slip the news about Elliot Thompson then Jim would kill him for good.

Sebastian waited until the two boys had rounded the corner, the trophy still held triumphantly in Dean’s clasp, before suddenly he turned on his smaller counterpart.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!”

The use of the ‘eff’ word was still something that Jim hadn’t grown accustomed to, and he still reacted just like how he had during their first encounter. But this time he looked more angry than shocked.

“You’re supposed to be helping me!” Jim shrieked furiously, a scowl of betrayal etched across his facial features, resembling a stubborn toddler.

Without warning, he tore the scarf from his neck, and threw it on the grass in-front of him. And just to make his point even more clear, he stamped on it for good measure.

“How can I help you!?” Sebastian demanded, snatching his scarf from the ground and fastening it sulkily around his neck. “I don’t help crazy people who go around poisoning glasses of orange juice.”

Once the scarf was securely tied, the eight-year-old took a step back from his counterpart, making sure to shoot him a glare as he did so. Jim merely stood there, stunned, his own brow furrowed as he stared right back at the older boy. Sebastian couldn’t help but think to himself that if it had been a staring competition then Jim would have most definitely won. His brown eyes were piercing, to the extent where they were equally just as unnerving. With the two other gang members both long-gone, and the crowd of spectators having mostly dispersed to head back to their own homes, Sebastian finally took the opportunity to announce what had been gnawing at the back of his conscience since the start of the second-half. He was reluctant to, but the thought of Elliot being in some type of serious danger frightened him immensely. And he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life locked away in a dingy prison cell, just like Pip’s father.

“I quit.”

“What?”

“If you won’t tell me what’s going on then I quit your stupid Grosvenor Gang!”


	6. Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's plan to apologise is ruined when Jim fails to turn up to school. After some encouragement, he decides to pay a house visit to his friend.

Since his abrupt exit from the Grosvenor Gang, both Dean and Pip had stopped speaking to Sebastian altogether.

He spotted them sometimes in the playground, playing football together or scribbling rude insults about the other kids on the walls, however they never stopped to say hello. Each time he tried to talk to them, they simply turned their backs, or Pip would glare snidely at him until Sebastian eventually got the memo and left.

It wasn’t much fun being alone, especially after the tumultuous last few weeks he had experienced being a part of Jim’s gang. Not only did it feel strange not sitting with Jim every lunchtime whilst the raven-haired boy rambled on about some complex scientific theory as Sebastian pretended to listen, but each time he looked down at the healing scar on his hand he couldn’t help but be reminded of the oath that he had sworn during his initiation.

_“I Sebastian Moran, Solemnly swear to always listen and obey the orders of Jim Moriarty, leader of the Grosvenor Gang.”_

Thinking back on it, quitting the gang in such a hurry had been a terrible mistake. The eight-year-old regretted the decision more and more as each day passed, as he was forced to roam the streets alone instead of being in the woods playing cowboys and Indians with his newfound friends; but he couldn’t confront Jim about it, as Jim hadn’t turned up to school for the entirety of the week.

On Thursday morning as Sebastian arrived to school, he discovered to his dismay that all of the students were being ushered into the hall for an assembly. He carefully dismounted his bike and stored it safely away in the bicycle-shed in its usual spot, before following Miss Trevors’ orders and trailing after the remainder of his class into the hall, where the headmaster already stood awaiting them behind his pedestal. Sebastian’s first thought was that the assembly was to congratulate the rugby team on their success during Friday night’s game, but the atmosphere was far too solemn for that to be the case. Not even Miss Trevors, who usually wore a rosy grin on her face, had dared to crack so much as a smile, which was a telling sign in any given scenario.

As Sebastian scoured the hall, he spotted Dean and Pip sat together near to the front, Dean’s red hair making him visible for more than a mile off. They appeared to be enthralled in a hushed conversation, only when they noticed Sebastian approaching they immediately fell silent and looked away. Realising that his presence wasn’t welcome, Sebastian bit his tongue and decided to search for somewhere else to sit, eventually choosing one of the empty seats on the other side of the hall next to one of the boys who he shared a table with in class. Sebastian glanced awkwardly around the hall, his gaze drifting towards Dean and Pip every so often before he hastily diverted it away again out of fear that they might notice.

Once the students were all settled in their places, and the pleasant hum of conversation surrounded the hall, the headmaster beckoned for everybody to quieten down before stepping forward to deliver whatever message he had prepared in-front of him.

“As some of you may be aware, one of our students in the upper school, Elliot Thompson, has been absent from lessons for the past two weeks.”

At the use of Elliot’s name, a hushed chorus of murmurs broke out within the hall, and all of a sudden Sebastian was uncomfortably unaware of the stares being directed his way. For the past two weeks the subject of Elliot had been the elephant in the room, however an air of relief appeared to spread over the crowd of boys at the realisation that they were finally going to be given an answer to quell their curiosity. Sebastian kept his stare rooted directly at the floor in-front of him as the whispers and snickers continued, every hair on the back of his neck standing on edge as he listened to Miss Trevors’ demands for the boys to be quiet and show some respect. The pupils eventually all calmed down, with some added help from the headmaster, and Sebastian slowly dared to raise his head shamefully, only to discover that the two members of Jim’s gang were still eyeing him suspiciously from across the hall.

“Elliot is currently in the intensive care ward at Trinity Hospital, being looked after by some of the doctors and nurses. We aren’t sure whether or not he’ll be returning to us here at St Matthew’s as he’s going to be in hospital for some time, but I’m sure we can all wish him a speedy recovery and hope that he gets better soon. And remember, the nurse’s office is always open incase anybody finds themselves feeling upset by this.”

The news about Elliot was somewhat bittersweet. In a way Sebastian was glad that the boy, no matter how arrogant and mean-spirited he was, hadn’t snuffed it, whilst the other part of him felt guilty for Elliot even being in the hospital in the first place. He secretly wondered whether Jim was aware of the boy’s condition or not, and he made a mental note that he was going to visit the seven-year-old later that afternoon once school had ended to deliver the news.

The assembly ended with their usual prayer, and once the boys had all chimed ‘amen’ in unison, Sebastian’s class were led back to their classroom to begin their usual English lesson for that morning.

At lunchtime, it was Miss Trevors who cautiously approached Sebastian in the playground, after spotting the boy sitting alone behind the bike shed, munching on the soggy remains of his usual ham sandwich. Ever since he had first joined her class, Sebastian had always had a tendency to shy away from the other boys, but this week even Miss Trevors found herself alarmed by how strangely quiet the eight-year-old was being. He didn’t answer his name when she called it out on the register each morning, nor did she see him giggling with his usual raven-haired companion whenever she patrolled the lunch hall. It wasn’t unexpected to have to deal with the odd temper tantrum or mood swing, that was simply part of working as a teacher, however Sebastian wasn’t the type of boy to get angry over something as trivial as a game of football. He was a complicated boy, a delicate one too, and this sudden shift in his behaviour concerned her immensely.

By the time she approached, Sebastian had already finished with his lunch, and was preoccupied with the toy army-man carefully balanced on his lap. The army-man had been through the wars over the past week, in the sense that on Monday Sebastian had accidentally dropped him from the top of the monkey bars and snapped his arm off. A one-armed army-man wasn’t exactly ideal, but the blond still found himself able to confide with the toy whenever he felt worried. Only today their man-to-man discussion was interrupted by Miss Trevors coming to sit on the bench beside them, one of those artificial smiles etched across her lips.

“The other boys are playing football, Sebastian,” she explained tenderly, her gaze travelling down towards Sebastian’s lap where he was still clutching tightly to the toy soldier. “…I think it might do you some good to join in.”

Sebastian never played football at lunchtimes, only because the game was often dominated by the louder boys in his class, and they never played fairly. They hardly ever agreed to let him join in, as if they were worried that he might lash out and hurt one of them, and when they did allow him to play on the rare occasion, Sebastian was always relegated to the role of goal-keeper whilst the other boys were able to kick the ball around freely however they pleased.

Miss Trevors immediately spotted the expression of discomfort on the eight-year-old’s face, and all mentions of football were quickly abandoned.

“It can’t be much fun sitting here by yourself,” the teacher continued, being very careful to tread on eggshells around the already-tense boy to prevent him from exploding. Her voice was warm, and gentle as she spoke, and Sebastian noticed that she was wearing a new shade of lipstick from the day before. It was pink, and matched the pointed shoes she was wearing.

“I don’t mind,” he grunted eventually, stowing the toy army-man into his pocket for safekeeping.

He looked up towards the woman, quickly enough to catch the troubled frown creasing her brow. But the frown didn’t make her look very pretty, and completely ruined the appearance of her lipstick.

“If there’s something troubling you, Sebastian, you know you can talk to me.”

“But what if i’ve done something bad?”

Miss Trevors’ attention shifted noticeably at the comment, and she sat up a little straighter on her perch, hastily clearing her throat. The boys were still playing football a few metres away, and judging by the hostile noises echoing across the playground they were beginning to all turn on each-other. She’d have to tell them to finish off their game soon before lessons resumed, despite having the full-knowledge that the children were always ten times more energetic in the afternoons. It made it practically impossible to teach, especially when the boys were still hyper from their jelly and custard.

“That doesn’t matter,” she promised reassuringly, diverting her attention away from the crowd of rowdy students and towards Sebastian instead. “What matters is that you’re honest with me so that I can help you.”

Sebastian bowed his head nervously, toying with the buttons on his blazer. At first he considered not telling her the truth, but he wasn’t a very good liar, according to what his mother used to tell him anyway. But Miss Trevors reminded him somewhat of his mother, enough that he ultimately decided to trust her.

“I wasn’t very nice to somebody. We were friends, but I was mean and now they won’t speak to me.”

“Is Jim Moriarty your friend?”

“Yes,” Sebastian agreed bluntly. “But I don’t think he wants to be my friend anymore.”

Miss Trevors sighed. It was the same sigh that she had given earlier that week, when Michael had accidentally knocked over the jug of water whilst they were painting and ruined Christopher’s drawing. Sebastian couldn’t quite tell if it was good or bad, but he knew Miss Trevors well enough to know that she hardly ever got angry, either that or she was just extremely good at hiding her temper, unlike Sebastian.

“Well,” she said calmly. “…Sometimes we say things we don’t mean to say, but that doesn’t make us bad people. We just have to fix our mistakes.”

“How do I fix it?” Sebastian asked timidly, kicking at a stone on the ground so that he didn’t have to make any unwanted eye-contact with the teacher.

“Apologising to Jim would be a good way to start.”

The bell rung out across the playground, a long, loud peal signalling for the end of lunchtime. One by one, the boys all stopped what they were doing, gathering their footballs and playing cards before following after each-other back towards their normal classrooms. Upon realising that it was time to go, the older woman slowly rose to her feet, eyeing the eight-year-old with a thoughtful smile. He was a clever boy, not that many people often saw him that way. To them he was merely a scoundrel, a delinquent who was destined to end up in some form of prison or institution. But she knew the truth at least.

“…Sometimes you have to be the bigger person and own up to your mistakes, Sebastian, and I know Jim will appreciate it if you apologise. I’m sure he isn’t angry at you, just confused. Now… We ought to head back to the classroom, do you want to help me hand out everybody’s books?”

Miss Trevors slowly outstretched her hand, and after some deliberation Sebastian cautiously took it. Her skin was smooth, apart from the bulky ring wrapped around her finger, which caused the blond to grimace slightly as they walked hand in hand, with Miss Trevors gently guiding him through the maze of painted corridors and stairwells.

By the time they arrived back to their usual classroom, Miss Trevors had already let go of Sebastian’s hand so that she could check on Christopher, who was in a flood of tears because somebody had stolen his favourite Top Trumps card. The eight-year-old obediently set about dishing out the class’s writing books, the majority of which had been plastered with stickers and glitter. He didn’t mind receiving little chores from the teacher; it kept his mind occupied and gave him something to do to keep him out of trouble. Right now they had just started their new project -creatively titled ’Who Am I?’ According to Miss Trevors, it was a chance for them all to express themselves, to tell the whole class about their family and favourite hobbies. So far Sebastian was enjoying it; sometimes he didn’t know what to write, but he often made up for it by drawing lots of pictures of his himself and his father in their house. They were always happy in his drawings, with large, lopsided smiles etched across their faces, with nobody to tell them that they weren’t allowed. Miss Trevors had even complimented him on his work several times, ‘ _even better than Picasso_ ’ she had stated jokingly on one occasion, and the eight-year-old lapped up the praise each time like a delighted puppy.

When it was eventually time to leave for the day, Sebastian collected in the books just as he had handed them out, placing them neatly inside of the cupboard where they were stored. After receiving a worried smile and ‘goodbye’ from Miss Trevors, he joined the procession of children flocking towards the playground so that he could retrieve his bike from the bike-shed and head home.

Usually he would have stopped by the corner shop on the journey home to buy himself some sweets, but today was urgent business, and he had no time to stop in favour of some fizzy cola bottles. Sebastian pedalled as fast as he could, past the playing fields and the post office, before finally he arrived in Grosvenor Street outside of his destination, house number thirty-six. Through the gap in the upstairs curtains, the blond could catch a glimpse of light illuminating the four walls of Jim’s bedroom, the only problem was he couldn’t see Jim anywhere inside.

After parking his bike against the wall and hopping off, Sebastian cautiously approached the front of house, surveying the window to Jim’s bedroom to look for a possible means of entering. It would be too high to climb, unless he wanted to risk the possibility of breaking all of his bones, and besides he didn’t have a ladder. He remembered how Jim had first caught his attention on the morning of his initiation ceremony, and whilst hurling rocks at somebody’s window wasn’t the most polite of greetings, it seemed to have worked perfectly fine when Jim had done it. So without thinking, Sebastian grabbed a rock from one of the potted plants in the forecourt, raising it above his head in preparation to launch it, until suddenly he caught sight of the front-door opening.

Kirstie stood in a long flowery cardigan, a bewildered smile plastered across her lips as she clutched to a teacup in her hands.

“You know normally people tend to knock when they want to come inside,” she commented bemusedly, and immediately Sebastian dropped out the rock of embarrassment.

Kirstie, who stunned Sebastian with her surprisingly-calm demeanour, beckoned the boy inside, and offered to hang up his blazer for him on the coat-rack. Sebastian slipped off his shoes out of politeness, placing his backpack onto the ground as he admired the hallway thoughtfully. It was more cluttered than he remembered it to be, though that was all thanks to two large suitcases stacked against the bookshelf, filled with all sorts of clothes and men’s hygiene products that must have belonged to Jim’s foster dad, Brian.

“I take it you’re here to see Jim? Or do you just have a fascination with garden rocks?”

“He hasn’t been at school for a week,” the eight-year-old mumbled shyly in response, not quite understanding the joke. “I just wanted to check to see if he’s okay.”

“He’s in his bedroom,” Kirstie confirmed softly, offering Sebastian an encouraging smile as she pointed upstairs with her index finger. “Jim’s feeling a little blue right now. Sometimes he has what’s known as a depressive episode, like now for instance, but with his special medicine that the doctor prescribes he’ll be better and back at school in no time, I’m sure of it.”

“Is it contagious?”

“I don’t think so, love,” the older woman promised.

Upon noticing Sebastian’s sudden hesitance, she folded her arms and chuckled lightly.

“You can go and see him, you know. I can tell you’re desperate to.”

A wave of relief immediately washed over the eight-year-old, and after murmuring a distracted ‘thank you’ to Kirstie, he raced up the staircase as quickly as possible to go and say hello to Jim. There came no noise from the smaller boy’s bedroom as he slowly approached, so Sebastian assumed that it must be safe to enter. After twisting the handle, he carefully pushed open the door and stepped inside, instantly spotting a large lump underneath Jim’s bedsheets from where the boy was hiding.

“Jim?”

The bedsheets moved slightly, yet still all Sebastian could make out was a small tuft of black hair poking out from underneath. When there came no response, the blond tentatively approached the bed, lingering by the bottom of the ladder as pondered on what to do or say without accidentally upsetting the boy. Though thankfully he didn’t have to think for long. Upon recognising Sebastian’s voice, ever so slowly Jim crawled out from underneath his bedsheets, eyeing the boy below with skepticism. He was dressed in a white vest and boxer shorts, exposing his pale, stick-like arms and legs, as well as his hair which was tangled and unkempt, and probably needed some brushing. Beside him sat an unfinished plate of toast and jam, where Jim had evidently attempted to scrape the jam off with a knife, accompanied by two small capsules, what Sebastian assumed to be Jim’s ‘special medicine’. Only he hadn’t touched them.

“Kirstie let me in,” he explained before the seven-year-old had a chance to get angry at him.

“I know. I heard you two talking downstairs.”

“You were listening?”

“I only listened to what I wanted to hear. I ignored the rest.”

Jim carefully pulled himself up into a sitting position, and beckoned for Sebastian to join him on the bed. Sebastian still didn’t entirely understand what the medicine on Jim’s bedside was for; Jim didn’t look very sick to him, he didn’t have any red spots or a noticeable fever, but regardless he didn’t want to disobey Jim’s orders, so he eagerly clambered up the set of steps onto the bed to join his friend. The younger boy’s bedsheets were still warm from where he had been laying on them all day, and Sebastian attempted to sit down awkwardly beside Jim, all whilst trying not to accidentally knock over the plate of jam on toast and spill it everywhere. He eventually succeeded, crashing down on top of the bedsheets as Jim shuffled forward and cuddled against his flank.

And after some mindful consideration, Sebastian dared to wrap his arms around his smaller counterpart in return, being extra careful not to crush him with his weight.

“I didn’t mean what I said, y’know,” he mumbled suddenly, resting his chin upon the top of Jim’s head.

He was close enough now to smell the shampoo in his hair, a particularly sweet smell which reminded Sebastian of the candy floss they sometimes sold at the village fair each summer. It smelt a bit like a woman’s shampoo, not that Sebastian had a problem with it. It must have belonged to Kirstie, or at least Jim was borrowing it.

“…About quitting the gang.”

“I know.”

It was only when Sebastian pulled away that he realised Jim was staring at him fixedly with his large, brown eyes again. At first, Sebastian couldn’t help but wonder if Jim was about to smother him with one of his pillows, but thankfully nothing of the sort happened, and he allowed himself to relax. Instead, Jim clambered across to his bedside so that he could pick up the uneaten slice of toast, toying with it silently in his hand like it was some sort of odd specimen. Sebastian had been on the verge of apologising, however Jim’s fascination with the food caught his attention.

“Are you going to eat that?”

To answer Sebastian’s question simply, Jim suddenly flung the piece of toast out of his hand without warning, watching as it soared across the room before landing face-down onto the carpet below. The blond could already see the strawberry jam starting to trickle out of the sides and onto the floor. It was enough to make him wince.

“Now that you’ve finished with your tantrum, are you gonna listen to my apology?” Sebastian demanded gruffly, a sulky frown tugging at his features, mainly because Jim was far more fixated on a slice of bread than the embrace that he had been enjoying.

“I don’t like jam,” the raven-haired boy shrugged dismissively, staring at the mess on the carpet until he was satisfied, before proceeding to rest his head against Sebastian’s lap.

Jim made a grunting noise with his throat, and Sebastian took that to signal that he wanted his hair petting. So obediently he set to work.

His fingers jostled gently with the boy’s hair, wrapping the dark strands around his pinky finger and twirling them around, and judging by the occasional weak giggle from his counterpart, Jim was enjoying it. Sebastian liked seeing Jim happy, even if according to Kirstie he was apparently sick. But if playing with Jim’s hair prevented him from being sad, then Sebastian saw no reason as why to stop. The occasional shrieks and giggles kept him grounded, and he liked that, the only problem was the two blue pills staring the blond directly in the face. He had tried to ignore them at first, focusing on Jim instead, but as the seconds passed their presence was becoming unbearably stronger.

Sebastian reluctantly let go of Jim’s hair so that he could address the seven-year-old.

“Jim?”

“Why did you stop?”

“Sorry.”

The blond’s face turned immediately red with embarrassment, and he hastily continued the pattern of brushing through Jim’s hair in order to appease the boy. Jim appeared to relax fairly quickly afterwards, even nestling his head comfortably against Sebastian’s trousers while he enjoyed the pets to his hair, and Sebastian took the opportunity to finally ask his question.

“Those pills,” he mumbled cautiously. “What’re they for?”

Jim didn’t answer at first; initially Sebastian was worried that he hadn’t heard him, until he felt Jim’s body suddenly tense against his own. Sebastian continued playing with the boy’s hair, only since the seven-year-old had requested it, but even as he did he made sure to keep a firm gaze on Jim, who was currently staring up towards the ceiling as if he had seen a ghost.

“They’re none of your business,” His tone was stubborn, however Sebastian was more unsettled by how distant Jim’s voice appeared to have grown within those fatal few seconds. “I thought you came here to say sorry.”

“But I already said sorry.”

“Well, I want to hear you say it again.”

“Sorry, Jim.”

“Again!”

“Sorry!”

“Again! Again!”

“ _Sorry_!”

A loud shriek of laughter escaped Jim’s lips as he lapped up Sebastian’s excess of apologies, relishing in the older boy’s embarrassment. Sebastian was more startled than amused by Jim’s unexpected attack, and once the screaming frenzy had eventually died down he took a few steady breathes to calm himself. The hand that had been playing with Jim’s hair had loosened in shock, but thankfully it seemed as though the boy had grown disinterested anyway.

Jim sat up, and without another word he picked up the pills from his bedside, and popped them triumphantly into his mouth before swallowing.

“You’re mental,” Sebastian whispered feebly, a small smile crawling across his lips as he admired Jim. Before his smile abruptly disappeared.

“…Elliot Thompson’s in hospital. I thought you should know he’s not dead.”

“Good.”

Sebastian fell quiet, nibbling nervously on his lip as he observed his counterpart, who was currently captivated with the mess of toast and jam staining the carpet. Alike Sebastian, it had also dawned on Jim that the mess he had created was going to land him in big trouble with the grown-ups, especially since jam stains were almost impossible to get rid of, and they looked an awful lot like blood.

“What exactly did you do to him?”

“I’ll show you.”

Jim clambered down from his bed, before making his way over towards his bookshelf to retrieve what looked like a chemistry book. He passed it to Sebastian, who in-turn anxiously opened it up to the page Jim had told him about prior.

_‘Page Fifty Six. Important notes on the poison Strychnine.’_

The majority of the page was hard to decipher; Sebastian couldn’t understand all of the complicated terms and words displayed on the page, mixed in with the fact that Jim had scribbled over the entirety of the book - making his own amendments and critiquing any flaws he had discovered whilst reading. It was unfair to call them intelligent ‘critiques’, especially when they just consisted of Jim writing ‘ _STUPID_ ’ next to anything that he didn’t like, or simply scribbling out the text if he couldn’t be bothered to write.

With a little help from Jim, Sebastian was soon able to locate the list of symptoms relating to the poison, and one by one he read them out:

“Muscle pain… Difficulty breathing… Brain death… Jim!”

Jim snatched the book from Sebastian’s grasp, rolling his eyes as he forcefully slammed it shut. He shoved the book back into its designated slot on the bookshelf, behind his stack of Grimm fairytales, making sure that it was completely out of sight incase anybody came snooping around.

“He can’t be brain dead because you told me so,” the raven-haired boy reminded Sebastian smugly. “We’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“We?”

“Yes, we,” Jim hummed, outstretching his pale hand and patting Sebastian on the head just like you would with a dog. “Grosvenor Gang members stick together.”

Sebastian grinned shyly, his heart swelling with pride at Jim’s words.

“Even if they’re poisoning other kids’ school dinners?”

“Atta boy.”

They ate ice-cream at the kitchen table that evening, courtesy of Kirstie who, after a few minutes of stern lecturing, had eventually forgiven Jim for the mess he had made in his bedroom. Sebastian had never eaten rocky road ice-cream before or even known of its existence until now, but according to Jim it was his favourite flavour, so Sebastian made the extra effort to finish his bowl.

As they were scraping the final few remains of ice cream from their bowls, a key could be heard jangling in the metal lock of the door outside, followed shortly afterwards by the familiar voice of the Englishman. His heavy footsteps trailed into the hallway, accompanied by Brian’s rambles as he complained to Kirstie about a particularly tiresome lecture he had given that afternoon on Ceva’s Theorem to a class of disinterested first-years.

By the time the man entered the kitchen, both Sebastian and Jim had completely finished off their bowls of ice-cream, although Jim had stolen the majority of Sebastian’s ice-cream for himself. Brian was wearing a dull grey suit and tie, a leather briefcase in his clasp which he quickly placed down upon the floor so that he could readjust his glasses.

At the sight of the two boys at the kitchen table he smiled immediately, more so when he spotted the now-empty bowls of ice-cream.

“Rocky road or mint choc chip?” He asked knowingly, approaching Jim from behind so that he could ruffle the boy’s hair.

Jim squirmed away from the touch, however his mood immediately perked up at the sight of the parcel gripped in his foster father’s spare hand.

“Rocky road,” he replied distractedly, wriggling out of his seat so that he could snatch the parcel from Brian’s clutch, and he immediately began to tear at the brown paper and string binding it.

At first Sebastian didn’t understand what was so special about the parcel, until Jim tore away the final remains of the wrapping paper, and was presented with a large hardback book titled ‘Differential Geometry for beginners’. Sebastian could only stare in awe at the book, whereas the seven-year-old immediately grinned with glee and looked up to thank the man eagerly.

“I’ve been invited to King’s College to sit in on a lecture about the Gauss–Bonnet Theorem tomorrow evening,” Brian explained calmly, a small smile spreading across his lips at the sight of Jim with the book. “I figured you might want to be the first to learn about it. I bet you’ll understand it easily.”

“King’s College?” Sebastian asked in confused, placing down his spoon and earning a small chuckle from Brian.

“London,” he replied simply. “I travel back there sometimes to attend lectures and to visit my parents. I’ve promised James I’ll take him one day during the holidays. Naturally you’d be more than welcome to join us too, if that’s what James wants.”

Sebastian was primarily bewildered at the prospect of Brian’s parents still being alive, considering that the man looked at least one-hundred himself, however his confusion quickly diminished at the suggestion of accompanying Jim one day to London. He had never been overseas before; the furthest away he had ever travelled was to Cork, the last summer he had spent with his mother and father together during an especially-miserable camping trip where it had rained consistently throughout. But London was different. London had the Queen, and Big Ben, and Buckingham Palace. London was nothing like stupid Ireland.

The look on Sebastian’s face must have been clearly noticeable, as after a minute even Jim was trying to suppress a giggle while he watched him.

“Bastian will come too,” he assured his foster father, grinning cheekily at the older boy before racing upstairs to read his new book.

Sebastian stayed for longer than expected that evening, mainly because he was so preoccupied that he had lost all track of time. Besides he wasn’t in any rush to get home.

They sat on Jim’s bed together; Sebastian admiring all of the posters and notes strewn across the boy’s four walls, whilst Jim rested his head comfortably against the blond’s lap so that he could read his new maths textbook.

Staying in Jim’s house made Sebastian realise how much he disliked his own home, with the cupboards which were always bare, the leaky roof which had never been fixed, and his mess of a father who was constantly apologising for his mistakes. Sebastian felt a little bad for thinking about his father in such a way, but after his redundancy the eight-year-old had been forced to watch whilst the man he had looked up to all of his life crumbled before him, turning to alcohol day-in and day-out to numb the distress.

To distract himself from the thoughts gnawing away at his conscience, Sebastian instead turned his attention to the smaller boy laying on his lap, who was lost in a complete trance as he flipped through the pages of his book. For a moment, Jim looked so soft, vulnerable even. His pale knees were raised high in the air with his feet planted firmly on the mattress, his hair was fluffy and in need of a brush, whilst his chest moved rhythmically in slow rises and falls. He could tell by the adoring look in Jim’s eyes that the seven-year-old was absorbing every single word and diagram on the page, adding to his already vast knowledge.

It was a whole new world which Sebastian couldn’t understand, but it was Jim’s world, and that’s what made it special.

“Were you serious about letting me come to London with you and Brian?” He asked curiously, carefully brushing away a strand of dark hair which had fallen onto Jim’s face.

“Course,” Jim murmured quietly, his eyes flittering over the sentences as he delicately turned the page, making sure not to ruin the paper. Sebastian had never seen anybody treat a book in such a way in his whole life. “Brian likes you, I can tell.”

Sebastian smiled sheepishly.

“And do you like me?”

Jim let go of the page he was currently holding onto, looking up towards Sebastian with a bemused frown. He tilted his head to one side, before suddenly he broke out into a smile, and giggled. It was the same giggle as always - sweet, and devoid of any malice. For a seven-year-old who had just almost killed somebody, in Sebastian’s eyes he was still just as wonderful.

“Yeah, I do.”


	7. Rope Swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer holidays have arrived, however a stunt-gone-wrong calls for an unexpected trip to hospital. Meanwhile, Jim has big plans of his own.

On the first day of the summer holidays, it was Jim’s idea to build a rope swing in the woods.

The idea was agreed upon by all three remaining gang members, all of whom were gathered at the bottom of the clearing whilst they waited expectantly for their leader to jump. It had been decided that attaching the piece of rope to the branch of an old oak tree would do the trick, and ultimately Sebastian had been the one to climb up to the said-branch and tie the rope since he was considered the most ‘agile’.

His re-acceptance into the gang had been inevitable, with Jim holding a meeting shortly after the blond’s house-visit in which Dean and Pip were forced to apologise to Sebastian, and Sebastian in-turn was made to apologise to the two older boys. Since then, things were slowly beginning to return to normal; with school finished for the holidays it meant that they had the whole summer to themselves, a whole glorious month where they could do nothing but play in the woods and eat as many sweets as humanly possible. For Sebastian, summer allowed for a much-needed escape from his father, as well as the opportunity to get to know Jim better. Not only that, but Jim had invited Sebastian to spend three days with him and his foster-family in London midway through August, an offer which the eight-year-old accepted in a heartbeat.

Despite it being his idea in the first place, as soon as it was Jim’s turn to jump from the rope suddenly he grew reluctant.

At the bottom stood Sebastian and Dean with their arms outstretched to catch the boy as they shouted words of encouragement, whilst Pip sat a little way back from them, skulking underneath one of the surrounding trees whilst he attempted to fill out a job application for the vacancy at the city library. Pip was beginning to grow distant from the group, something which Jim put down to ‘stupid puberty’, even though Sebastian didn’t quite understand what was was. Sometimes his voice would crack halfway through a sentence and he’d become embarrassed, or he’d arrive to gang meetings in a foul temper and start throwing things around whilst the others would be forced to try and calm him down. Dean himself had had a growth spurt, much to Jim’s displeasure who was still very much the shortest member of the gang, and had developed a rather strong attraction for the girls he saw in the top-shelf magazines at the corner shop. At times, Sebastian had tried to sneak a peek of the girls that Dean was eyeballing, only to be subsequently forced out of the shop by the owner who brandished them ‘rude little boys!’ as they scurried out.

Jim stood at the top of the hill, the rope grasped tightly within his two hands, with enough pressure that the blood in his knuckles had drained completely. He stared down at the spectators below with an uneasy frown, constantly moving between preparing to jump and shuffling back as far away from the edge as possible. He wasn’t very protected, unless a pair of shorts and a t-shirt counted, but the boy was no stranger to the collection of scrapes and bruises which littered his skin. The newest additions were the angry black and blue bruises covering Jim’s knees from the last time they had played cowboys and Indians together, where Jim had lost his balance in the dense undergrowth and fallen off of his bike. Then again his sympathy had only been limited; it served him right for cheating.

It took around ten minutes or so of arguing until they finally managed to coax Jim to the edge of the hill, and with the promise of being rewarded with a bag of flying saucer sweets he eventually agreed to jump. With his hands still clutched tightly to the long tether of rope, Jim gave an almighty push with his feet, and launched through the woodland clearing with the rope dangled precariously above his head. Even Pip, who had been engrossed in his job application, looked up to watch as Jim swung triumphantly through the air, only for the rope to snap and for him to fall a mere few seconds later.

The seven-year-old hit the ground with an unpleasant thud, and both Sebastian and Dean, their mouths agape with horror, sprinted over to check on him.

“Is he dead?” Dean breathed anxiously, crouching down to where Jim was sprawled out on the grass.

Jim didn’t appear to show any signs that he was bleeding, however the pair’s attentions were quickly diverted to his left arm, which was bent at an alarming angle against the sea of grass. The seven-year-old had begun to make whimpering noises as they crouched down, ones which made Sebastian’s stomach knot with discomfort, and he watched worriedly as Dean attempted to lift the injured boy into his arms.

“Be careful, you might hurt him!” The blond persisted as Dean wrapped his arms around Jim’s legs, holding him bridal-style with Jim’s damaged arm rested protectively on-top of his lap, whilst the other swung back and forth clumsily from where it had fallen loose.

“Does it hurt when I press on it, Jim?” Dean questioned gingerly, jabbing his thumb into the skin of Jim’s arm, perhaps a little too harshly, only to earn a distressed howl of agony from Jim.

“Don’t touch it!”

“S-Sorry.”

Both Sebastian and Dean made their way back towards the edge of the woods as quickly as possible, with Dean still supporting Jim in his arms with relative ease. They were flanked closely in-tow by Pip, who was positively furious that his job application would have to be abandoned in favour of the wounded seven-year-old.

Thankfully finding Jim’s house hadn’t been hard, especially not when they could spot Kirstie stood in the garden, a red watering can outstretched in her hands as she watered the plants. She only worked as a professor part-time nowadays, allowing her to spend most of her time tending to the garden, which she thoroughly enjoyed, as well as looking after Jim, which had its ups and downs. Jim, fuelled by his stubbornness, had argued that he wasn’t a baby anymore and therefore didn’t need taking care of, until Kirstie reminded him that he was still only seven, and he wasn’t quite a big boy yet. But Kirstie had a knack for gardening; her love of the hobby was supposedly passed down from her own mother from when she herself had been a child, and during his bad days Jim would often be called down to the garden to help her dig up carrots or plant new seeds which would then eventually bloom into majestic foxgloves and petunias. It was one of the many small tips she had learnt throughout her countless years of fostering.

The only difficult part had been deciding who would break the news to Kirstie, however it seemed Pip had already decided the answer for himself.

“Sebastian should do it,” he demanded suddenly, pointing an accusing finger towards the blond’s chest without even waiting for any input from the others. “He was the one who built the stupid rope swing!”

At the older boy’s abrupt accusation, Sebastian stopped immediately in his tracks, his face turning a horrified shade of red.

“But that’s not fair!” He shrieked adamantly. “You were too busy filling out your shitty application to the library to even help, which they’re never goin’ to accept anyway!”

Dean stopped too, but only because he was worried about a fight breaking out between the enraged pair. And since he was still holding on to Jim, it meant he wouldn’t be able to stop either boy if they suddenly decided to lash out and smash the other’s face in.

“The pair of you, shut the fuck up!” He hissed irritably, growing rather unsettled at how loud they were starting to be.

“But he started it!”

“No, it’s Sebastian’s fault!”

_“-If you boys shout any louder then the whole of Ireland will be able to hear you.”_

The woman’s tone cut them all off, and shamefully each of the three argumentative boys slowly turned their heads to face Kirstie, who was eyeing them suspiciously from the other side of the garden gate. The sudden outbreak of shouting had alerted her of the boys’ presence, more-so the fact that she couldn’t hear Jim’s distinctive shrill cries amongst the voices. It was odd to not hear Jim’s voice mixed in with the rabble for once, and that alone was enough to convince her that something was wrong. And as the older woman had already suspected, the sight of the bundle in Dean’s arms meant that something had happened to the boisterous raven-haired boy.

“Were you boys playing in the woods again?” Dean put up no protest, and as Kirstie beckoned for Jim he carefully handed him over to her, allowing the woman to place the boy down onto his own two feet.

“I thought I told you that a rope swing would only end in trouble,” she scolded Jim sternly as she brushed the stains of dirt from his clothing, however her expression soon softened at the sight of his arm, which he was clutching protectively to against his chest.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Only a little.”

“…And your arm?”

“A lot.”

She hummed - it was a type of knowing mother’s hum which simply meant ‘I told you so.’ It must not have been the first time that something of the sort had happened, judging by how quickly Kirstie shuffled back into the house in order to grab her car key, and to write a short note to Brian explaining that she and Jim were going to hospital and that dinner would be later that evening than usual. She had hoped that it would be a relatively peaceful trip, however as soon as she closed the front-door behind her, she was immediately greeted by the sight of all of the boys stood expectantly by the side of the car, staring up towards her with anticipating smiles.

“I suppose this means that you’re all coming along too?” She asked in defeat, fully-aware that she didn’t have the authority to stop them, especially not when she was outnumbered three to one.

And without hesitation all three boys determinedly nodded their heads.

“We have to stick by Jim’s side,” Sebastian informed the woman valiantly.

“Grosvenor Gang rules.”

“I see… Very well, but you’ll have to sit in the back.”

Only two visitors were allowed in the treatment room at one time, and after a frustrating game of rock paper scissors it was decided that Sebastian would be the one to accompany Kirstie when the time arose.

The three of them had been relegated to the hospital waiting room for a painfully-long hour now, attempting to pass the time by guzzling down sweets from the vending machine and playing tag until one of the receptionists shouted at them for causing too much disruption.

After their fun had been put to a disappointing halt, and their stomachs had started to ache from the over-consumption of sugar, Sebastian, Dean, and Pip all crashed out onto the row of plastic chairs lining the waiting room, with no choice but to simply stare at the clock on the wall while they waited for the time to pass. No matter how hard he tried, Sebastian couldn’t make himself comfortable. The chairs reminded him of the ones placed outside of the headmaster’s office at school, and not only that but he was also beginning to grow fearful over the condition of his smaller counterpart.

“D’you think Jim’ll have to have his arm amputated?” The blond eventually dared to ask, turning worriedly to Dean who was busy flipping through a magazine.

“Nah, don’t be daft,” Dean assured him nonchalantly, whose gaze was busy drifting over a section about Formula One.

Pip on the other-hand was still in the midst of polishing off his fourth packet of chocolate from the vending machine, despite having earlier complained of his painful stomach-ache. He was watching the conversation at-hand with interest, and once his curiosity finally got the better of him he leant forward to join in with the scaremongering, a teasing grin plastered across his lips.

“I dunno,” he piped in suddenly. “I once saw this guy who chewed his own arm off.”

However his comment quickly earned a disapproving shove from Dean, not quite the result which he had hoped for.

“That was from The Evil Dead, arsehole,” the redhead reminded him sternly, shooting Pip a warning glare since he was keen to avoid upsetting the eight-year-old sat amidst their company. “It’s a film, it doesn’t count.”

The thought of Jim potentially losing his arm, or any other limb for that matter, was enough to make Sebastian’s skin crawl. His attention drifted away from Dean and Pip, who had already changed the subject of the conversation to the matter of Formula One, and chose to distract himself once more by the clock face on the wall, watching as the hands ticked tediously along. The hands were moving slower now than Sebastian recalled, either that or his mind was playing tricks on him.

The hospital waiting room was relatively quiet, unless you counted the abundance of nurses rushing frantically back and forth to their different stations, or the elderly man tucked away in the corner displaying signs of a rather nasty chest infection. The sounds of his raspy coughs and splutters filled the entirety of room, and Sebastian was so preoccupied with the fear that the man might suddenly drop dead that he almost didn’t hear his name being called a few minutes later.

“Sebastian? Are you ready?”

Kirstie was stood at the door smiling, which meant it must be good news.

The blond’s expression relaxed as soon as he spotted the woman, and he eagerly scrambled to his feet, leaving behind the two older boys who were still engrossed in their magazine. Naturally they looked up to see what the fuss was, however after realising that it was only Kirstie they swiftly turned their attentions back towards the magazine in Dean’s hand, flipping over the page so that they could gawk over the different models of cars. Whilst they were occupied, Sebastian followed the older woman down a narrow stretch of hallway, where the walls had been painted with different multicoloured sea-creatures in order to make it seem friendlier and more appealing to the younger patients. There were various crabs and starfish, as well as what looked to be an octopus displayed next to the map of general directions, it’s tentacles covered in all different sorts of colours and patterns despite none of them working well together. According to the sign just above the creature’s head they were in the hospital children’s unit - ironically putting an end to Jim’s assertive claims that he was no longer a baby.

Only one of the treatment rooms had its door open, and surely enough as they approached Sebastian caught sight of Jim, perched on the edge of the bed while a nurse tended carefully to his injured arm. He wasn’t crying, nor was he shouting for once, and as he lingered in the doorway Sebastian became suddenly aware of the stupid grin spreading across his own lips at the very sight of the boy.

He had barely even made it to the threshold when already Jim’s head had jerked upwards, followed by a declaration of pure triumph:

“This is my friend, ‘Bastian,” Jim announced to nobody in particular, becoming exceedingly gleeful from the arrival of the boy whilst the nurse unsuccessfully attempted to keep him still, now rather regretting her decision to allow Sebastian inside the room. The smile on his face made a nice contrast from earlier that day, and as he awkwardly shuffled in through the doorway Sebastian dug around in his pocket, retrieving a small packet of Flying Saucers before placing them into the middle of Jim’s free palm.

“What’re these for?” Jim questioned skeptically, and as he took a seat Sebastian noticed the red, star-shaped sticker plastered to his t-shirt. _‘I’ve been a superstar’._

“I promised you, didn’t I? That if you jumped then we’d buy you sweets.”

Jim’s expression was more doubtful than relieved, however that didn’t stop him from digging his pale hand into the packet and extracting an orange sweet for himself. He took a large, clumsy bite, with the nurse immediately lecturing him for spilling sherbet powder all over the tray of surgical equipment, which only added to the boy’s displeasure. After their slight dispute, in which Jim had sulked until the nurse was forced to apologise embarrassedly, Sebastian had offered to hand-feed the sweets to Jim whilst he instead focused on keeping still so that the nurse could place his arm cast on.

It was an efficient system; every time Jim wanted a sweet all he had to do was open his mouth wide, and obediently Sebastian would place one on the top of his tongue to satisfy him. Jim managed to eat around half the contents of the packet before the nurse was finished, not to mention Sebastian who had snuck one or two sweets into his mouth when the raven-haired boy wasn’t looking.

“Consider yourself a very lucky boy, James,” The nurse’s tone was firm, however Sebastian could have sworn that somewhere in her voice he’d heard the faintest hint of relief. Then again that was understandable when dealing with Jim. “…Your arm is broken, but with time and rest it will heal just fine. So no more swinging on ropes with your friends in future, understood?”

The blond had a slight hunch that the last part was in reference to him, and he quickly diverted his gaze towards the ground so that he could focus on a particularly dull thread on his shoelace instead of having to make eye contact with the woman. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, she intimidated him a little, only she didn’t appear to have the same effect on Jim.

“Do I get another sticker?” Jim asked quizzically, completely dismissing what the nurse had just advised him as he gestured towards the red star on his t-shirt.

A pause of hesitation followed, and both Jim and Sebastian watched the nurse fixedly to see if she would eventually cave in to the pressure. She eventually did, sighing through gritted teeth as she retrieved the book of stickers from a small box underneath her desk, this time presenting the seven-year-old with a blue one to contrast against the red.

Sebastian was somewhat disappointed that he didn’t get his own sticker, although it was perfectly understandable considering he hadn’t been the one to break his arm. He would have been jealous too if it wasn’t from the expression of pure ecstasy radiating from Jim’s face, whilst Kirstie and the nurse were stood to one side discussing the seven-year-old’s other medication in hushed voices. Sebastian shot his friend a grin, and in-turn Jim returned it; overall the first day of the summer holidays had been a success, even if the only good outcome had been two cheap stickers, curtesy of a poor nurse who was virtually at her wits’ end.

They arrived to the same spot in the woods five days later, only this time Jim’s arm was wrapped in a thick bandaged cast.

He had gotten all of the boys to sign it; Dean had drawn a lopsided smiley face, whereas Pip had simply scribbled down his name in a hurry, too small for it even to be classed as recognisable. Sebastian hadn’t been sure what to write, and after some consideration he finally decided that his name would be adequate enough, followed by a drawing of what was supposed to be Jim wearing a large crown on top of his head. However despite his levels of concentration, the end-result was far less impressive than he had originally envisioned. Nevertheless, that hadn’t stopped Jim from boasting about how much he loved his newly-decorated cast, allowing each of the three contributors to breathe a sigh of relief.

According to the raven-haired-boy, Kirstie still hadn’t forgiven him entirely for their stunt with the rope swing, hence why she had sent Brian out with his toolbox to build them something more ‘health-and-safety friendly’ as she had called it. The result had been a brand new swing, carefully crafted over the course of a day and securely attached to one of the tree branches to prevent it from snapping. This time a large tyre had been connected to the bottom-end of the rope, providing a place for the boys to sit and swing whenever they so pleased. Brian seemed to know what he was doing, or at least Sebastian gained that impression from the fact that the Englishman owned a toolbox, which must have meant that he was qualified to at least some extent. He had been there to watch as Brian built the structure on the Friday morning, alongside Jim who was engaged in a riveting debate over supernovas and black holes with the man as he worked. Sebastian had tried to join in with their conversation, only to quickly realise that his knowledge of space was significantly lacking.

_“D’you think the sun will explode one day?”_

_“Don’t be stupid, ‘Bastian, course it will. But we’ve still got a few billion years ’til then.”_

Currently Jim had taken precedence over the rest of the gang as their leader, deciding that his newly-broken arm made him more deserving of such privileges. He had made himself comfortable in the middle of the new tyre, holding onto the rope with his free hand whilst his shoes skimmed lightly against the bed of grass and mud below his feet. If Sebastian had been in Jim’s position then he would have taken the opportunity to climb to the very top of the rope, or swing back and forth as far as he possibly could in order to try and impressive the others - but the idea of actually swinging on the tyre didn’t seem to be on the forefront of Jim’s mind. He was much too busy dangling his legs out far in-front of him, wiggling his feet as he smiled at the sight of his untied shoelaces.

“I want to build a castle,” Jim announced abruptly, his gaze still thoroughly transfixed on his battered trainers.

Sebastian had been closest to Jim when he made his proclamation, attempting to fill out his summer homework project with not much success. The whole class had been given the same task of writing an essay by Miss Trevors, the general theme being ‘what I did on my summer holidays’. So far, even though they weren’t even past the first week of their holidays, Sebastian had a lot to write about. Right now he was eagerly detailing their trip to the hospital, recounting how Jim’s arm was broken, but it was okay because he didn’t have to get it amputated. Dean and Pip were sat beside him completing their own summer projects - only theirs’ was a lot more complicated since they were both in the upper school.

“Are you sure you didn’t hurt your head as well as your arm when you fell?” Dean commented skeptically, looking up from his geography homework so that he could eye the seven-year-old in confusion.

“Not a real castle, doofus,” Jim retorted without missing a beat. “All gangs are supposed to have a fort to hold their meetings in.”

“And where did you read that?”

“I didn’t read it. I made it up just now.”

Jim’s idea for a fort was simple enough; after lunch they set about gathering large sticks to convert into a den, all while Jim sat on-top of the tyre swing overseeing their progress and bossing them around. The name of their fort would be ‘Castle Moriarty’ - a name unsurprisingly chosen by the raven-haired boy. Sebastian oddly didn’t mind it at all. ‘Castle Moriarty’ was a threatening enough name for a fort owned by a bunch of schoolchildren, and one which he hoped would convince the other children to back off in-case they ever came sticking their noses around in the Grosvenor Gang’s territory. The sticks and branches all lined the trunk of a large oak, the same one responsible for holding the tyre swing, with the ominous warning _‘TRESPASSERS BEWARE_ ’ etched onto a piece of tree-bark just above the entrance. Dean had also offered to chip in by donating one of his old pillowcases to transform into a flag, a part of his old pirate-themed bedding from when he supposedly first moved to Dublin, with a skull and crossbones emblazoned boldly on the front. A vote was held by Jim, and all three remaining gang members unanimously agreed that a pirate flag would be the perfect addition to their meeting-place.

“Will we meet at the fort every week?” Sebastian asked out of curiosity, currently in the midst of trying to move one of the final branches with some added help from Dean, slotting it against the remainder of sticks and smiling at the revelation that it fitted perfectly.

“It’s a _castle_ ,” Jim corrected the blond sternly, huffing as he clambered down from the swing to examine the now-finished product. “An’ I suppose so… Apart from when we’re in London, obviously.”

“London?”

Both Dean and Pip looked up from where they were adding the finishing touches to the flag, suspicious frowns creasing both of their brows.

“You never mentioned you were leaving.”

“Only for three days,” Jim shrugged flippantly, a small smile etched cross his lips at the mere thought. “Brian’s taking me and Sebastian to London in three weeks time, isn’t it cool? He promised to take us to the Tower of London an’ all of the big museums.”

The two older boys exchanged looks, looking equally disheartened by the revelation, however it was Pip who looked more skeptical than disappointed, whereas Dean’s gaze was simply casted sulkily towards the ground.

“Why does Sebastian get to go?” Pip’s harsh tone was directed more towards the blond, causing Sebastian to avert his eyes uncomfortably. “He only joined a couple of weeks ago, me and Dean have been here for way longer!”

“You can’t complain,” Jim piped up furiously, scowling at Pip as he came to stand by Sebastian’s side, as if to stick up for the eight-year-old. “I thought you and Dean are going on holiday together anyway?”

“Dean’s mam’s taking us to a caravan park down in Kildare, it’s hardly the same as going to stupid London.”

“Well if you think London’s stupid then maybe it’s a good thing you’re not coming.”

The conversation ended abruptly after Pip stormed off in a flood of swear words, followed closely by Dean who had no choice but to follow behind. Even as they were marching away from the newly-built fort, Sebastian could still hear the foul-tempered insults being muttered under the pair’s breath, before eventually they disappeared through the gap in the woods and proceeded out onto the main road.

“I told you it was puberty,” Jim rolled his eyes dismissively, waiting until both boys had completely vanished before beckoning Sebastian over to join him on the tyre swing.

Sebastian, still oblivious to what the word actually meant, followed obediently after Jim towards the tyre swing in question. He had hoped that since Dean and Pip were no longer there he would finally be allowed to play on it, only to be disappointed by the realisation that Jim had called him over just so that he could push him back and forth. Sebastian would have been angry, but he was feeling more sympathetic towards Jim’s broken arm than he dared to admit aloud.

“What’s puberty?” Sebastian asked thoughtfully, waiting until Jim was settled on top of the swing before beginning to push him gently back and forth.

“It’s when you get older and you get all spotty and grumpy,” Jim shrugged innocently, clinging on to the rope as tightly as possible to prevent himself from falling and breaking his other arm. “Kirstie told me so. She says everybody goes through it at some point.”

Sebastian made sure to be as careful as possible, knowing that Jim’s bones were about as fragile as a China tea set. There was practically nothing of the scrawny seven-year-old, both height-wise and regarding his slender frame, and over-time Sebastian had found himself becoming increasingly paranoid that one day Jim was going to get seriously hurt. And that didn’t just mean suffering from something as simple as a broken arm.

“But I don’t want to get spotty,” Sebastian protested, his frown deepening the more he thought about so-called ‘puberty’.

“Neither do I,” Jim shrugged.

“Do you think we can avoid it?”

“Not unless we’re mutants.”

After his boredom got the better of him, which didn’t take that long at all, Jim hopped down from the swing to allow Sebastian to have a go instead. Thrilled by Jim’s sudden change of mind, Sebastian eagerly scrambled onto the top of the rubber tyre, carefully positioning his feet as he began to rock back and forth precariously, all while Jim admired him from below. The raven-haired boy was grinning widely, something that he only tended to do when he and Sebastian were alone together, or after he had taken the medicine prescribed by his doctor. Sebastian hadn’t picked up on it yet, although that wasn’t particularly a surprise, he was far too busy attempting to see how high up he could swing if he put enough effort in.

“Did you ask your dad about London?” Jim asked whilst Sebastian was occupied with the swing, taking a seat outside of Castle Moriarty as he observed the blond thoughtfully.

“What part?”

“About whether you can come or not.”

Sebastian slowed down ever so slightly, the force of the swing reducing him to feeling rather nauseous. In the end he had been able to lift himself a few feet off of the ground, high enough to see the parade of cars and houses just on the outskirts of the woods. He wondered whether he’d be able to see the whole of Dublin if he climbed any higher - but that was a challenge for another day. The sky was beginning to darken, and besides his stomach was starting to rumble menacingly.

“He said it’s fine.“ Sebastian explained, hopping down from the tyre swing with a satisfied grin. “He jus’ doesn’t understand why we’re going, he says it’s not safe.”

Jim stood up as soon as Sebastian returned, brushing down the muddy residue from his clothes before grabbing for his backpack full of unfinished schoolwork which he hadn’t even attempted to fill out. The marker pen still hadn’t faded from the seven-year-old’s arm-cast, making for what Jim described as a ‘bold display of his power’, although Sebastian was still convinced the he had stolen that line from a book. Nevertheless, it was still admittedly impressive.

“Why wouldn’t it be safe?”

“Dunno, he just said English people don’t like us very much.”

“Well that’s rubbish,” Jim dismissed plainly, waiting for Sebastian to retrieve his own work as he shoved it forcefully into his bag. “There’s nothing wrong with us.”

Jim was curious as to what the piece of paper sticking out of Sebastian’s backpack was, and was slightly disappointed to learn that it wasn’t another story about kings and dragons. The blond tried explaining with an air of pride that it was an essay about their summer holiday, and that he was going to write all about their adventures in England when the time came. Eventually Jim seemed to relax at the idea, only after Sebastian promised that the raven-haired boy would get a whole page dedicated to himself - which wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Kirstie wanted to know if you’re coming round for tea tonight.”

“What’re you having?”

“It’s Brian’s famous soup tonight,“ Jim shrugged. “He’s making it when he comes home after his lecture.”

“Why’s it famous?”

“I dunno, that’s just what everybody calls it… it tastes like dishwater.”

Sebastian failed to suppress a giggle, earning a stern frown from Jim.

“Will there be ice cream again?”

“Obviously.”

“Alright then.”

Once all of their possessions had been collected up from the ground and dusted off, the two boys automatically stopped to admire their new fort one final time before they left. With the addition of the skull and crossbones, it was safe to say that ‘Castle Moriarty’, as it had so suitably been named, was looking more intimidating than ever. A gentle breeze had made its way through the clearing in the woods, jostling the insides of the cotton pillowcase and causing it to twist and flail erratically, as well as the rope swing which was rocking gently back and forth. Sebastian tried to imagine all four of them sitting inside the den together, provided that Dean and Pip didn’t stay angry forever, sharing sweets and complaining about their teachers and exams in the many months to come. So far the summer had been perfect, and the last thing Sebastian wanted was for it all to end. He resented the thought of having to go back to another dreadful term of school; all he wanted was to stay as a normal boy for just a little while longer, without the fear of getting expelled or failing his exams like most ordinary days. He wanted to be free, with Jim Moriarty by his side, tucked away safely in the depths of their fort where nobody could ever find them.

But even Sebastian had accepted that it wasn't a realistic dream, and currently the prospect of going to Jim's house for tea was a much more pressing matter, especially since his stomach was still growling persistently. And judging by the impatient look on Jim's face, it seemed that he was ready to get going too. 


	8. Homesick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian joins Jim's family on a trip to London.

The airport on their way to London had been easily one of the strangest experiences of Sebastian’s life. There were security guards poised with large guns around every corner, countered with the constant flow of people which made it practically impossible to move anywhere without becoming tangled in a maze of suitcases and handbags. Sebastian had learnt the hard way that the airport was an unforgiving place, after getting lost on his way to the toilets and almost losing Jim and Brian whom he was travelling with. Brian was considerably more sympathetic than the security guard who had first picked up the panicked eight-year-old, and had assured Sebastian that the guard was not about to shoot him for causing trouble.

Their flight wasn’t until eight-o-clock that morning, so to keep both boys’ momentums up Brian suggested they stop at a small cafe overlooking the runway for a spot of breakfast. With the old man’s promise to pay for it all, he had ordered three identical plates of an All Day Breakfast, as well as two glasses of orange juice and a hot chocolate at Jim’s request.

They sat at a rickety little table by the window, close enough to watch the planes taking off and coming in to land outside. While they ate, Jim was busy proudly recounting his knowledge of the principles of flying, using his fork to simultaneously dribble a stray piece of scrambled egg around his plate. Sebastian was only half-listening to what Jim had to say; as he shovelled a particularly large forkful of black pudding into his mouth, his eyes caught sight of a young couple sat a few tables down from them, fussing over a particularly stubborn toddler currently throwing a tantrum in it’s high-chair. Despite the toddler’s incessant shrieks and banging, the woman, who Sebastian presumed to be its mother, wore a gentle smile on her face, and was attempting to coax the child with a toy rabbit she had produced from her handbag. After a short stand-off, the child eventually gave in to it’s mother’s plentiful bribes and affection, leaving Sebastian with an almost-jealous knot in his stomach as he watched the mother cradle the tiny being lovingly in her arms.

But thankfully before he had time to dwell on the matter, the seven-year-old’s voice abruptly cut through the air, causing him to almost knock over his glass of orange juice in stunned disarray.

“Is that a real gun?”

Jim pointed towards one of the guards who had been patrolling up and down for the duration of their breakfast, more specifically to the gleaming black firearm tucked carefully underneath his right arm.

Brian, who had been attempting to polish off the remainder of his plate of food, looked up in surprise at Jim’s question, before his gaze landed upon the gun the raven-haired boy was referring to. He deliberated momentarily, before ultimately deciding that Jim’s question was more important than the final scraps of egg yolk on his plate and placing down his fork.

“Why? Does it worry you?” Brian asked lowly, attempting to offer Jim a comforting smile after wiping his lips with a napkin. It was the same smile that Kirstie sometimes used, only the old man’s was less effective due to the bushy beard covering his mouth. Kirstie was originally supposed to be coming with them on the trip, until she had caught a nasty cold a few days before they were due to depart, leaving her at home with a runny nose and a bad case of the sniffles.

“I’m not worried,” Jim protested sourly, clearly taking offence to the mere suggestion of it. “And Sebastian’s not either. Are you, ‘Bastian?”

Sebastian admittedly hadn’t been paying much attention, his gaze still flickering occasionally towards the mother and baby sat across from them, but at Jim’s question he looked up dazedly, trying to answer as best as he could without getting shouted at by the smaller of the two.

“Huh? Oh, no… no I’m not.”

The seven-year-old subsequently hummed in satisfaction, his sharp stare fixating once more on Brian for an answer.

“See, we’re not babies. Will you tell us now?”

Brian shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eventually explaining that the guns in the security guards’ arms were in-fact real, however he emphasised that they were only for the _‘bad people’_ in the airport which meant that it was highly unlikely they’d ever be used. Jim listened with a mixture of awe and confusion to the revelation, whereas Sebastian was left feeling a little sick, trying to figure out what exactly classed a person as ‘bad’. He helped Brian to tidy up the soggy remains of their cooked breakfasts, before a few minutes later their flight was finally announced over the telecom. Brian insisted that the two boys held tightly to his hand as they wove through the sea of people towards the gate, Sebastian had a feeling it was because of the toilet incident earlier, and upon arrival they were greeted by a long stretch of passengers all queuing for the same flight to London Heathrow.

Sebastian had never travelled on a plane before. And neither had Jim, judging by the way he was gripping to his seat for dear life during the entirety of take-off.

The plane itself was much larger than Sebastian had imagined it to be. As they boarded, Jim was adamant that he wanted the window seat, a demand which Sebastian was secretly rather thankful for due to his increasing nerves. There were only two seats on either side of the aisle, meaning that both Jim and Sebastian would be paired together, while Brian occupied the seat in-front of them next to a complete stranger. After checking to make sure that both boys were wearing their seatbelts, Brian resumed his own seat, occupying himself with a book of sudoku as the strangely-enthusiastic flight attendant began her safety demonstration.

It wasn’t until they were midway through their ascent that Sebastian first noticed Jim’s oddly quiet demeanour, as well as the fact that he had started to pinch nervously at his skin. Tentatively, the blond reached forward, attempting to take ahold of the boy’s smaller hand in order to get him to stop, pressing his thumb against Jim’s palm and rubbing it lightly.

“Are you scared?” He whispered with caution, however it made no difference to whether Brian heard them or not. After peeking through the gap between the seats in-front, it was clear to see that the man was still thoroughly invested in his puzzle book.

Jim didn’t answer at first, his heavy stare still fixed upon the window. Before the flight, Brian had explained that they might experience something on the way known as ‘turbulence’, where the plane might shake or bump if the weather was particularly windy. Sebastian secretly wondered if it was turbulence causing the plane to rattle every now and then from side to side, or what was making Jim so anxious.“I’m not scared,” Jim muttered eventually under his breath, sinking back against his seat as he toyed with the plastic buttons on his raincoat.

“I just don’t like it.”

“The rattling?”

“It’s too noisy.”

“I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“But what if the plane falls out of the sky?”

“We’d be okay, wouldn’t we?”

“Not if we landed in the sea. Then we’d drown.”

Coming in to land at Heathrow was thankfully a lot less stressful than take-off. The first thing that Sebastian noticed upon their arrival was the rain, which lashed furiously against the windows of the plane with no sign of stopping, making it practically impossible to see out into the grey abyss of London. Jim equally seemed just as happy to be back on the ground once again, and eagerly tagged along after Sebastian and Brian as they shuffled off of the plane to collect their luggage, all the time rambling about how rainy it was and how he didn’t want to get wet.

“The guards here have guns too,” Jim expressed keenly, his fascinated, Irish squeak causing a few other passengers to eye them warily as they retrieved their suitcases from the revolving conveyer belt.

Brian, who was conscious that they were drawing too much attention to themselves, handed Jim his backpack, placing a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder to calm him down.

“Now, according to the brochure our hotel is in Westminster,” the older man explained, retracting his hand from Jim’s shoulder so that he could proceed to rummage around in his pocket, retrieving a tattered brochure which he then handed to Sebastian. The blond took it with interest, making sure to be extra careful as he turned the pages as not to damage the already-crumpled paper. “Check-in is at midday… I figured after lunch we could do some sightseeing?”

“What’s there to do in London?” Sebastian asked out of curiosity, attempting to navigate the faded map of the city with not much success. There were so many peculiar lines and dots surrounding the page and overlapping one another, all of which supposedly represented different landmarks, only Sebastian couldn’t make out what any of them meant.

“Well,” Brian hummed kindly. “There are lots of things. You have the Houses of Parliament, the Natural History Museum, Buckingham Palace-“

“-You promised to take us to the Tower of London,” Jim interjected determinedly, snatching the brochure from a bewildered-looking Sebastian so that he could read it for himself.

After locating the red dot which represented the tower, the raven-haired boy excitedly jabbed at it with his index finger.

“Here, right next to Tower Bridge.”

Sebastian, realising that this was going to be a Jim-dominated holiday, decided not to argue against the raven-haired boy. He had secretly been hoping that they could go to the aquarium, only because he had seen it advertised in the brochure that Brian had handed him, but he had a feeling that going to look at a bunch of fish and penguins was the last of Jim’s priorities. Even as they made their way through the airport, Jim was already listing off all of the executions that had taken place in the Tower, from the medieval queens of Henry VIII to the supposed killing of the two princes. He spoke about them all with such eagerness that Sebastian supposed the trip might not be too bad after all, just as long as they were allowed to browse the gift-shop afterwards. Before leaving, his father had gifted him a whole two pounds worth of spending money, with the firm instruction to use it wisely and buy himself a nice souvenir for when he returned home.

Lunch consisted of two jam sandwiches, which were eaten sat on-top of one of the many red, tour buses parading the busy streets.

London was just as Sebastian had imagined it, only without the rain which had unfortunately ruined their sandwiches. The roads were spilling with an abundance of black cabs and double-decker buses, with affluent men in business suits all swarming the crowded streets, swinging their briefcases to-and-fro as the smoke from their cigarettes shrouded the air. They had the second deck of the tour-bus all to themselves, although the main reason for that was no-doubt the incessant rainfall, which had only worsened throughout the course of the morning and into the afternoon. 

The hotel was in the heart of Westminster, and upon arrival they were split into two rooms; Jim and Sebastian had been allocated a twin-room all to themselves, with Brian staying next-door in-case either of the two boys needed him for any reason during the night. Sebastian’s first impression of the hotel was that it was posh, or at least he gained that suspicion after they were met with a snide, middle-aged receptionist when collecting their room-keys, a man who appeared more than displeased by the sight of the two scruffy children stood debating whether or not his hair was real or just a wig. After the explanation that breakfast was served from six o’ clock every morning, Brian allowed them some time to visit their new rooms and unpack before they headed out to lunch. Naturally, Jim claimed the bed closest to the window for himself - not that it mattered considering both sets of bedsheets were covered in the same matching white stripes. Sebastian was left instead with the bed closest to the door, which worked to his advantage if he needed the toilet during the night, but was slightly less promising if an intruder was to break in through the door and kidnap him. The eight-year-old obediently set about unpacking his duffel bag, placing his pyjamas in a neat pile at the end of his bed so that they wouldn’t become creased, and slotting his toothbrush into the cup holder in the bathroom.

As the double-decker continued its tour of the city, Jim was less-interested in eating his sandwich, and more occupied with tearing off the soggy pieces of bread to feed to the pigeons. Brian had warned sternly that feeding the pigeons would only attract more, but that didn’t stop Jim from donating the entirety of his lunch to the birds, including the jam filling of his sandwich. The Englishman had agreed to take them both to the Tower of London that afternoon, just as long as Sebastian and Jim promised to be on their best behaviour. It hadn’t been that hard to persuade him, not with Jim’s constant threats that he’d throw a screaming fit if they went elsewhere. In the end poor Brian had been overpowered two to one, after Sebastian had chipped in to support his feisty counterpart.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the museum instead? They’ve got a whole exhibit on dinosaurs I think you both might like,” Brian asked hopefully, watching Jim as he and Sebastian attempted to peer over the railings of the double-decker, pointing every time they saw something vaguely famous, like the silhouette of the River Thames in the distance. “What’s got you so intrigued about the Tower of London anyway? Is it all those ghost stories you read?”

“Ghost stories are for babies,” Jim dismissed quickly, pulling away from the railings once sightseeing was no longer entertaining enough.

Despite his raincoat, he was drenched from head to toe in water, as was Sebastian, who had made the stupid mistake of forgetting to pack his own raincoat for the trip, and was currently borrowing Brian’s own oversized one.

“Then why do you want to visit the Tower?”

“The jewels,” Jim explained bluntly, pulling a face as though it was a perfectly obvious answer. “I read up on them before we came. They’re the real things, not replicas… Even the Queen gets to wear them, but they’re in a glass box so that nobody steals them.”

At Jim’s unexpected explanation, both Brian and Sebastian fell into a stunned silence, the only difference being that a small grin of admiration was beginning to twitch at the blond’s lips. The Crown Jewels - it was so very Jim. All of those fairytales about princes and dragons had certainly left their mark, and as the bus continued its tour the intoxicated smile on Jim’s lips was wider than ever, his whole face radiating with sheer excitement at the very prospect of getting to see the famous jewels in-person.

By the time they reached the Tower of London, the rainfall had calmed significantly, and a tiny glimpse of blue could be seen poking out of the cracks in the otherwise grey sky. Though the weather was terrible it was still technically the summer holidays, and as expected countless families had flocked to the attraction with their children in-tow, preparing for a day of light entertainment despite the rain. Compared to the rest of the children busy chasing pigeons and clinging shyly to their mother’s coats, Jim was the odd one out. Whilst Brian was preoccupied buying the tickets, he and Sebastian were sat on a damp bench overlooking the castle, eyeing two black birds perched ominously on-top of one of the turrets. Jim had been the first to spot them, and had immediately pointed upwards towards the turret to showcase his find.

“What are they? They don’t look like pigeons,” Sebastian mumbled obliviously, squinting thoroughly as he tried to get a clearer view of what the smaller boy was gesturing at.

“That’s because they’re not pigeons, they’re ravens,” Jim explained in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Ravens?”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’ve never seen a raven before. Do they only live in London?”

“They live in the tower specially,” the seven-year-old hummed curtly, a small smile gracing his lips as one of the ravens appeared to lose interest, flying away and leaving the other by itself. “There’s a myth that says if they leave here then the Crown will fall and England will fall apart.”

When Brian returned, the entry tickets were clenched tightly between his teeth, leaving room for him to hold two ice-creams in his hands. He thankfully didn’t appear to have overheard any of their conversation, and was far too focused on trying to organise their tickets once he had handed over the slightly-melted cones. Sebastian thanked him politely, taking small, calculated licks from his ice-cream so that he could savour it for as long as possible, without the fear of eating it too quickly and having nothing left to look forward to.

During their tour of the attraction, it dawned upon the eight-year-old that the Tower was a lot more interesting than he had first considered it to be. The first reason was purely because it was his first time encountering a proper Royal Guard. They were nothing like the soldiers back in Dublin who he often saw on the news detonating bombs and shooting at one another, these were the real thing, with bright red uniforms and fuzzy black hats to match. When they arrived at the Jewel House, a soldier was already stood on guard outside, not that he looked particularly pleased about it. Even when Sebastian and Jim came to stand in-front of the guard to have their photo taken he still remained emotionless, and it was later on in the queue for the Jewel House that Brian explained they weren’t allowed to smile or speak, which Sebastian didn’t think was very fair at all.

“So they’re not even allowed to smile if somebody tells them a joke?” The eight-year-old questioned in disbelief, licking his lips of any remaining ice-cream stains as they neared the front of the queue.

“I bet I could make them laugh,” Jim butted in triumphantly, grinning as they were ushered forward towards the entrance.

Upon entering, they had their bags and coats searched, with the security guard finding the melted remains of Jim’s ice-cream in the boy’s raincoat pocket. Only a few visitors were allowed inside at one time, meaning that there was no scuffle or arguing when it came to taking photos or admiring the jewels. Before Sebastian even had a chance to process the array of rubies and diamonds being showcased, Jim had already ran up to the display, pressing his grubby face against the glass as his palms stuck to the outside of the box. Inside contained a multitude of jewels - from orbs and sceptres, to the large, dignified crown exhibited proudly on top of its pedestal. The raven-haired boy’s eyes were immediately drawn to the crown, and even as Sebastian came to stand beside him, his gaze remained fully transfixed upon the prized objects on full display.

“Back in the medieval times Thomas Blood tried to steal the Crown Jewels from here,” Jim whispered, a fascinated smile spreading across his lips as he trailed his index finger over the glass, creating a small circle.

“Did he get away with it?” Sebastian asked lowly, pressing his own palms against the glass to match Jim’s, though in comparison his hands were a lot bigger and covered in freckles.

“They captured him eventually,” Jim shrugged, pulling away from the glass after catching sight of a security guard watching them, reluctantly withdrawing his hands so that he wouldn’t get into trouble. “But King Charles pardoned him, I dunno why.”

It was hard to fathom why a man would be let free after stealing something as valuable as The Crown Jewels, or at least it was to Sebastian anyway. He had a feeling that if Jim was king then he would have sentenced the culprit to death to make him pay for his crimes, and as his noble servant Sebastian would have gladly watched the execution take place if it meant that Jim was happy. It was the security guard’s voice that broke his train of thought however, explaining that they needed to vacate in order to allow the next group of tourists inside. Out of all of them, Jim appeared to be the most disheartened by the news, his bottom lip protruding in disappointment as he was forced to part with his newly-favourited gems.

“Can’t I take a photo of them first?”

“You heard me, kid, time to go.”

Their trip to the Tower ended in less than ideal circumstances, with Jim throwing a temper tantrum as soon as they exited the Jewel House, catching the attention of all of those still stood waiting in the queue. The entirety of the queue were forced to watch as the seven-year-old kicked and screamed on the dampened ground, swearing at the ‘stupid security guard’ for forcing them out against his will. Sebastian attempted to intervene, instantly stepping back when a kick came hurling in his direction, until eventually it was the promise of a souvenir from the gift-shop that persuaded Jim to calm down. Despite being teary-eyed and bright red in the face, the raven-haired boy sluggishly clambered to his feet, and Sebastian gently escorted him along with Brian to the souvenir shop, away from the prying eyes of the other tourists. He could hear the snide comments and mutters as they walked away, trying his best to ignore the ‘ _what a spoilt little boy_ ’ remarks made by a couple of the disapproving mothers stood with their own children, but even Sebastian was having a hard time keeping his anger at bay when it came to people making fun of Jim.

“Forget about the guard, he was an idiot,” Sebastian sniffed scornfully, traipsing after Jim as the seven-year-old marched them into the crowded gift-shop.

Jim didn’t respond to Sebastian’s efforts to try and comfort him, which the blond took to mean that he was either completely over the rude remarks or he was simply too upset to talk about it. Thankfully it didn’t seem to be the latter; Jim ducked through the swarm of browsing tourists before Sebastian even had a chance to speak another word, past the rows upon rows of teddy bears and commemorative mugs until he eventually reached the back of the shop where a small selection of clothing resided. All of the clothes were of the same type - either emblazoned with the red, white, and blue stripes of the Union Jack, or covered in some form of landmark or tacky slogan. It was a wonder as to why Jim was so interested in the clothing compared to something simpler like a teddy-bear or keychain, especially considering that they were mostly all adult-sized and had no chance of fitting him.

Deciding to leave his counterpart to his own devices, Sebastian used the opportunity to peruse the rest of the merchandise, growing particularly fond of a postcard he spotted on one of the racks by the door. It was only fifty pence, displaying a glossy photo of the Royal Guards stood to attention in-front of what looked like Buckingham Palace. On the back there was room to write a short message as well as space for a stamp, and Sebastian came to the conclusion that it would be the perfect present to bring home to his father, and would leave him with just enough money to spend on something for himself.

When he went to discuss his plans with Jim, he spotted the seven-year-old stood in-front of the shop mirror, trying on what appeared to be a hat. Once again came the sight of the all too familiar Union Jack, which had been sewn to the front of the cap with coloured thread, accompanied by the singular word ‘ _LONDON_ ’ which Sebastian identified as he neared closer to the boy.

He lowered the postcard in his hand, a small smile gracing his lips as Jim toyed frustratedly with the oversized hat.

“Are you buying that?”

“Piss off.”

Sebastian only dared to step in when it looked as though Jim was about to completely lose his temper and shred the poor hat into pieces. Since he was taller than his friend, he had no trouble carefully adjusting the garment, tightening the velcro strap until he was certain that it properly fitted Jim’s head without being too uncomfortable. Jim was silent as he worked, staring at his reflection with a stubborn frown before the blond finally pulled away, giving him a proper chance to admire the cap for himself.

“I think it looks cool,” Sebastian whispered shyly, standing a few feet back so that his lanky frame wouldn’t clutter Jim’s view of the mirror.

“I don’t have enough money to buy it,” He dismissed solemnly, removing the hat and clutching the brim tightly in his grasp.

It made a nice change seeing Jim without the bulky cast for once, even if it had only been taken-off a few days before their trip abroad was scheduled. After the hospital visit, Jim had paraded his newly-healed arm around in his bedroom during one of Sebastian’s frequent visits, without the presence of Dean and Pip who were too busy caravanning in Kildare.

“How much is it?”

“Seven pounds, but I’ve only got five.”

Reluctantly, Sebastian casted his gaze down to the postcard in his hands, an apprehensive frown playing on is brow. He looked back up to Jim, who was still clasping to the hat, before stuffing his hand into his coat pocket and pulling out the measly two pound coins.

“I’ve got enough,” he offered feebly, outstretching the coins to Jim as the seven-year-old examined them skeptically for a few seconds, before eventually taking them.

“Thanks, ‘Bastian.”

Jim eased himself up onto his tip-toes, and without warning he pecked a small kiss to the blond’s cheek, before swiftly disappearing back through the flood of customers towards the till to pay. As Jim departed, Sebastian was left in a confused silence, his cheek still tingling from where Jim had left his mark. He quickly glanced around to check if anybody had been watching them, but each family was far too engrossed in their shopping to have even noticed anything much to his relief. Sebastian swallowed thickly, realising that he was still holding to the postcard before deciding to go and put it back in its rightful place, bumping into Brian midway towards the door.

“Sebastian, I was wondering where you two were,” the Englishman commented cheerily, his expression perking up at the sight of the souvenir hidden in the boy’s palm. In his own hand he held to a large information book about the different medieval monarchs, and a neatly-wrapped bar of peppermint chocolate which Sebastian supposed was for Kirstie.

“Thats a nice postcard, are you buying it?”

Sebastian quickly shook his head.

“I don’t have enough money,” he grunted.

Brian’s expression softened, and he carefully prized the postcard from Sebastian’s hand so that he could observe the price sticker for himself. In the end, his lips relaxed into a firm smile, and he handed Sebastian back the gift before retrieving his wallet.

“Don’t be silly, I can pay for that,” he offered kindly, gesturing towards the till where Jim had already finished paying, and was stood impatiently with a paper bag in his hand.

The rest of their afternoon was spent wandering around Westminster, before eventually they retreated back to their hotel in the early hours of the evening, all unanimously agreeing that they were worn-out from the day’s activities, as well as Jim’s complaints that his feet were beginning to hurt from all the strenuous walking.

With Brian’s camera, they had managed to take some good photographs of the first day of their trip. Sebastian’s personal favourite was still the photograph from the Tower of London, with himself and Jim stood posing in-front of the Royal Guard, looking awkwardly up towards the camera with cheesy grins plastered across their faces. The rest of the photos had been taken during their later walk around the city, all of which included Jim’s newly-bought Union Jack hat, which he had refused to take off for the sake of the picture.

By the time they returned to the hotel, it was already nearing seven o’ clock. Brian said his goodbyes as he disappeared off into his own bedroom, leaving Jim and Sebastian with the instructions to change into their pyjamas and get ready for bed. Sebastian had never had a hotel room to himself before, nor had he ever stayed in such a lavish place before. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he went for a shower, and it certainly wasn’t the flood of hot water that greeted him, pouring down his bare torso as the shower tap emitted a pleasant humming sound to accompany it. He could have happily stayed in there for hours, getting lost in his own thoughts, until Jim’s irritated hammering on the door reminded him that it was late. Reluctantly, Sebastian shut off the faucet and stepped out, grabbing a clean towel from the rack so that he could dry himself off. He was halfway through tugging on his underwear when the thunderous banging sounded again, even more impatient than the last time.

“Can I come in yet!?”

“No, Jim, I’m not dressed!”

“But I need the toilet! Hurry up!”

Sebastian’s cheeks flushed a furious red as he hastily finished drying his hair, and he was in the midst of reaching for his clean set of pyjamas before the door burst open without warning. He hadn’t quite mastered the art of learning how to lock the bathroom door yet, hence why the short seven-year-old was stood staring at him in bewilderment.

“Go away, Jim, I told you not to look!” Sebastian hissed with embarrassment, grabbing his wet towel and clumsily tying it around his waist in order to retain his dignity.

Jim was already dressed in his cotton pyjamas, his hair still wet from where he had taken a bath earlier that evening. At first Sebastian could have sworn that Jim was staring at him mockingly, about to make a jeering comment, until it dawned on him that it was more of a fascinated look than a teasing one. His face still burning with humiliation, Sebastian snatched his pyjama top from the floor and pulled it on, before waving a dismissive hand towards Jim.

“I need to put my shorts on, turn around… And _don’t_ peek.”

Jim did as he was told for a mere few seconds before his curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself stealing a quick glimpse of Sebastian whilst he finished dressing. He didn’t say anything, he just watched the eight-year-old in silent amusement, hastily covering his eyes with his hands when the blond finished getting dressed so that it wouldn't look like he'd been staring. Sebastian still hadn’t entirely forgotten about the kiss earlier in the gift-shop, but strangely it didn’t faze him. He’d seen plenty of kissing before to know that it wasn’t a bad thing; everybody kissed, even his mother and father had kissed each-other at one point in their lives. Maybe it was just Jim’s way of cementing their friendship, and in that case Sebastian rather liked the idea of it. He collected his dirty clothes, piling them into his arms before traipsing past Jim back into the bedroom, listening as the bathroom door clicked behind him, followed this time by the sound of the bolt locking.

Brian came to check on them at nine that evening, just to make sure that both boys were in bed and that none of them had any worries or concerns. He left them that night with the promise that the following day he’d take them to the Natural History Museum and the zoo if they had enough time, before wishing goodnight to the two boys and turning off the lamp as he departed the room.

Sebastian rolled over in the darkness, now feeling rather excited at the thought of going to the zoo the next day. He couldn’t hear any noise from Jim, which was odd, so he took the silence to mean that the raven-haired boy was already fast asleep in his own bed. He in-turn nestled his head against his pillow, staring up towards the dingy ceiling which flashed with colour every few seconds as the passing cars and buses projected bright light into the room. No matter how hard he tried, he found it impossible to get to sleep, or even bring himself to close his eyes. It wasn’t because he needed the toilet because he had already been, and the day of constant walking had undoubtedly made him tired, but there was a gnawing sensation in the back of his conscience that was making it impossible to fall asleep.

After an hour or so of restless tossing and turning, Sebastian finally gave in, and gently peeled back the duvet cover encasing him. He shuffled carefully into a sitting position, flicking on the bedside lamp before attempting to tap his roommate tentatively against his shoulder.

“Jim? Are you awake?”

Jim didn’t reply immediately, he simply groaned as the room was suddenly illuminated by warm light, rolling over onto his stomach so that his face was pressed against his pillow. The pillowcase muffled Jim’s voice, but not enough to mask the groggy ‘go away’ that slurred from Jim’s half-asleep lips.

“I can’t sleep,” Sebastian mumbled apologetically, turning his body to face Jim so that his legs could dangle from the edge of the bed.

“Well that’s not my problem.”

“I think I’m homesick.”

He watched the boy precariously for a few moments, before eventually Jim raised his head, and turned to face Sebastian with a confused squint. He could see in the seven-year-old’s eyes that he didn’t understand whatever nonsense Sebastian was spouting, and his confusion was followed by a small snort of disbelief.

“Why would you be homesick of stupid old Dublin?” Jim asked, more out of curiosity than annoyance, clambering slowly to his feet so that he could perch on the bed beside Sebastian.

Sebastian was glad of the company, and carefully relaxed back against his mattress again so that he could prop his head against the pillow. Jim automatically did the same, squeezing into the small space on the bed beside Sebastian, flicking off the light again so that they were both plunged into darkness together.

“We’re just so far away… Everybody here’s got funny accents and they’re all posh. London’s huge compared to back home,” the blond admitted reluctantly, feeling as Jim’s leg pressed up against his own, causing him to shiver slightly.

“I like London,” Jim shrugged dismissively, rolling over so that he could look at Sebastian properly, just about managing to make out his facial features despite the dimness.

“Why?”

“I dunno, I’ve just got this feeling,” the seven-year-old continued. “D’you reckon it’s because my real parents live here?”

Sebastian scoffed.

“You don’t sound very English to me.”

He closed his eyes, a small whimper escaping his lips at the realisation of how far away they were from Dublin - it felt like they were worlds apart. With his eyes still clenched tightly shut, Sebastian tried to imagine his father, sat at home drinking himself into oblivion yet again. He wondered whether the older man was worried, or whether or not he missed him.

“I can get Brian if you want? He’s only next-door.”

“No,” Sebastian interjected quickly, opening his eyes out of embarrassment. “He’s probably asleep, I don’t want to wake him.”

Jim nodded in agreement, before without warning he wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s waist, burying his head against the boy’s chest. Jim had a habit of tucking himself up into a tight ball whenever he got into bed, and Sebastian realised that he was doing it then, curling up a bit like a hedgehog would whenever they felt threatened. He smiled a little at the contact, holding Jim closely against his chest as his breathing steadied, tightly enough to make sure that the raven-haired boy felt safe and comfortable. Soon their panicked discussion turned into a chorus of soft breathing, and Sebastian listened to the harmonious sounds with a feeble smile.

“I think I’ll live in London when I’m big,” Jim’s voice broke the comfortable silence. It sounded determined more than anything else.

“And leave Ireland?”

“Uh-huh. I don’t want to stay there, I hate it there.”

“But what about your foster parents?”

Jim fell oddly quiet at the question, deciding eventually not to answer, probably out of guilt. Both Sebastian and Jim soon-after fell silent, listening to the gentle thud of footsteps from outside their room, making out the sight of Brian’s red socks poking underneath the gap in the doorway. Their voices must have alerted him that something was wrong, however instead of opening the door he simply lingered for a few seconds, before stepping back once he was satisfied and traipsing back to his own bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

Once the coast was clear, Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, until he realised that Jim had once again fallen asleep. Jim looked peaceful when he slept, the same as when he was reading his books or when he was engrossed in a complicated maths puzzle. His eyes were closed, his lips parted ever so slightly to reveal the tops of his two-front teeth, one of which was still growing in from where the baby tooth had recently fallen out. His vest-top exposed his pale, bony arms and shoulders, especially his recently-healed arm which was currently rested cozily against Sebastian’s flank.

“G’night, Jim,” Sebastian whispered, holding to the fabric of the other boy’s pyjamas as he closed his eyes once more, this time allowing himself to become lost in unconscious dreams of London and the Crown Jewels, his head swimming with visions of crowns and ravens.


	9. Lost Property

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the second day of their trip Jim decides to seek independence, with disastrous consequences. Meanwhile, Sebastian makes a new friend.

When Sebastian awoke the next morning, he was disappointed to find that Jim was no longer beside him, replaced instead by the sound of running taps coming from the bathroom.

The light had already begun to seep in through the gaps in the curtains as he groggily pushed back the bedsheets, tainting the room with warm, yellow specs of light. Jim, as it turned out, liked to take an unusually long time in the shower, which meant that while he was preoccupied the blond had a chance to get dressed for the day ahead. He pushed back the curtains, allowing the remainder of bright light to flood into the room, before carefully unzipping his duffel bag so that he could retrieve a clean set of underwear and a t-shirt.

The last few hours had easily been the best night’s sleep of Sebastian’s entire life. In-fact he couldn’t recall a time when there hadn’t been drunks shouting outside of his bedroom window, or a stand-off between the police and a bunch of rowdy teenagers which rumbled on until the early hours of the morning. For the first time his sleep had been undisturbed, even despite the constant steady flow of traffic tricking past their hotel window. Jim’s presence had made up for the cheap, uncomfortable mattress of the twin bed, and even as he stood up Sebastian was suddenly aware of a noticeable chill circulating around the room from where the raven-haired boy’s touch was no longer there to warm him.

The shower taps shut off shortly after Sebastian finished putting on his t-shirt, and as Jim reemerged from the bathroom he was stood in-front of the mirror making the final few amendments to his outfit. The heavy rainfall from the previous day had picked up once again during the night, only to cease by the time dawn arrived, leaving behind a puddle-soaked street accompanied by an abundance of clear blue sky. The lack of rainclouds was reassuring to Sebastian, who was still clinging to the hope that if he was lucky enough then they’d get to visit London Zoo that afternoon. It wasn’t quite the same as the aquarium, but after flipping through the pages of the brochure he was relieved to find that they kept all sorts of animals - from penguins, to flamingos, to even tigers. All they had to do was get through the stupid history museum first.

As Jim returned, he was sporting a loose t-shirt and his brand new signature hat, which he was forced to keep continuously adjusting since it was far too big for his head. The eight-year-old caught sight of the red and blue stripes in the mirror, immediately biting his tongue to suppress a smile as he turned to his counterpart.

“Are you wearing that to breakfast?” He asked, gesturing towards the hat, and in-turn earning a disapproving frown from Jim.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” The seven-year-old sniffed scornfully, grabbing his hoodie from the bed and fastening it around his waist.

Sebastian followed suit, copying Jim’s exact movements and tying his own hoodie around his waist to match. Jim didn’t take long to pick up on it, and almost instantly his frown was replaced with a smug grin, his lips still stained with a few flaky remains of toothpaste. His own hoodie was much cleaner than Sebastian’s, which had developed small holes in the fabric from where he had forgotten to take care of it, and was red in colour to match his hat.

“No reason,” Sebastian shrugged dismissively, eager to avoid what could potentially result in another tantrum. “I just think it looks cool, that’s all.”

“You said the same thing yesterday, doofus.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Brian came to collect them at eight o’clock for breakfast; he seemed in good spirits that morning, characterised by his overly-gleeful grin and the fact that he was wearing a button-up shirt instead of one of his usual jumpers. Sebastian wondered whether it was because he wanted to impress the people at the history museum, however he didn’t have a chance to question it before they were escorted downstairs to where breakfast was being served on the ground floor.

The first meltdown of the morning occurred when Jim couldn’t find anything that he wanted to eat.

The breakfast table was ladened with all sorts of foods; there was fruit, cornflakes, as well as mountains upon mountains of toast with a vast array of different jams and marmalades to match. According to Jim he wanted chocolate spread, and it was only after the waitress explained that they didn’t have any that he exploded into a fit of anger, and had to be coaxed out from underneath the breakfast table with a bowl of Coco Pops.

Sebastian chose a simple slice of buttered toast for himself, eating in silence as Jim sat opposite from him, stabbing irritatedly at his cereal with his spoon. He was taking an exceedingly-long time to eat his breakfast, so that by the time he scooped up a cluster of cereal it had already been turned soggy by the milk. With a displeased huff, Jim lowered the crumbling mess back into the bowl again, using his spoon to instead stir the components of his breakfast around and turn the milk chocolatey.

Aside from Jim’s meltdown, the dining room was buzzing with life. The guests on the table beside Sebastian and Jim were being exceptionally loud compared to the rest of the diners, and every so often the pleasant hum of conversation would be broken by a loud laugh or a fist thumping against the tabletop. They were American - or at least Sebastian guessed they were judging by their accents. There were four of them in total; a man, a woman, and three children around the same age as them fighting over who got the last rasher of bacon. Jim had begun to observe them curiously, only until Brian discreetly tapped him on the shoulder and reminded him that it was impolite to stare.

“It’s not my fault they’re talking so loudly, it’s annoying,” Jim commented spitefully, and his insult must have carried over to the neighbouring table as for the remainder of breakfast they were noticeably a lot quieter.

Sebastian demolished the remainder of his toast in comfortable silence, only half-listening to Brian’s itinerary for the day as his focus was drawn to attempting to stop any stray morsels of melted butter from dribbling down his chin. He managed to catch the last half of the conversation - something about having to purchase tickets for one of the museum exhibits - but even Jim had already stopped listening, and was more captivated by his warped reflection on the back of the metal spoon.

The walk to the Natural History Museum was only short, however the same couldn’t be said for the long string of tourists all queuing to get inside. Jim had already decided that he wanted to walk around the exhibits without the supervision of any grown-ups, however Brian was quick to dismiss the idea, his excuse being that it was far too dangerous to allow two children to wander around by themselves in a foreign country. Sebastian happily obliged, only because he had seen plenty of news stories about children getting lost or kidnapped, and he didn’t quite trust the security guard who kept staring at them whilst their bags were being searched.

Jim emitted an audible huff to convey his annoyance, taking hold of Sebastian’s hand and marching them through to the first exhibit before the blond even had time to protest. The building itself was gigantic, with copious rooms packed to the brim with numerous different glass displays, all containing a range of animal skeletons and artefacts. The first room that Jim led them into seemed to focus primarily on the deep sea - and as they entered they were greeted immediately by the sight of a large, whale skeleton suspended from the ceiling, with every single rib and vertebra on display for guests to admire and take photographs of. As they stopped to marvel at the exhibit, Sebastian felt a small shiver running down his spine, and he was left unable to shake away the feeling of apprehension as his gaze trailed across the strange collection of animal bones lining the hall, their lifeless skulls staring back at him uncannily. Jim appeared the most unfazed about the odd array of skeletons, and had already let go of Sebastian’s hand so that he could move on to the next exhibit, which was certainly much more to his liking.

“Space!”

With no choice but to follow, the eight-year-old hurried after his smaller counterpart, only to find him already glued to one of the displays in the next room.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

Surrounding them in the darkened room were large projections of the planets, each accompanied by a small panel of information below. Sebastian recognised Saturn straight away due to the unmistakable ring surrounding it, as well as Mars which was reflecting an almost-ominous glow across the remainder of the room, tainting the glass cases of the other displays red. Jim wasn’t interested in the planets; his sticky palms were pressed firmly against one of the display cabinets towards the back of the room, where inside sat nothing but a flimsy piece of rock. The blond came to stand beside him, only to scrunch his nose up in confusion at the sight of the structure, turning to Jim for an explanation.  
  
“It’s just a rock.”

“It’s not just any old rock,” Jim corrected him disapprovingly, jabbing a finger towards the box of information displayed next to it. “It’s a piece of meteorite, see?”

“Like the one that killed the dinosaurs?”

“Probably not the same one,” the raven-haired boy mumbled, pressing his face even closer against the exhibit, close enough that his breath was starting to fog-up the glass. “That was millions of years ago.”

Sebastian tried to get a better view, wobbling precariously on one foot as he tried to see above Jim’s head, however Jim was taking up practically all of the space which made it impossible to see inside. In the end, Sebastian simply let him, deciding to wander around the remaining exhibits while the smaller boy occupied himself with the pointless rock. In-fact it was impossible to get a good view of most of the displays considering they were all swarming with countless parents trying to entertain their young children, the majority of whom seemed more interested in the sign for the museum tearooms than the actual exhibits themselves. Only one of the displays wasn’t busy - a 3D model of the solar system showcased in the centre of the room. There were only two boys stood admiring it; one was a few years younger than Sebastian, probably no older than five, poised closely in-front of the display with a sulky pout, the other noticeably older and tubbier too, with streaks of ginger hair and an upturned nose.

As Sebastian approached, they were both in the midst of a heated debate, and it dawned on him that the pair must have been brothers despite their lack of similarities. They were both enthralled in a series of hushed bickering, dominated mainly by the younger boy who appeared keen to express his hatred for all things space-related, much to the irritation of his older brother who was clearly longing to get away from the exchange. Sebastian struggled to contain his grin as he eavesdropped on the conversation, and as a result he caught the attention of the older boy. However thankfully Jim had come waltzing back over before he was forced to explain himself.

“Brian says it’s time for lunch, are you coming?”

At once Sebastian broke away from the awkward eye-contact, just at the same time as one of the other exhibits became available and the other boy took his younger brother by the hand and led him away. Jim, who was oblivious to the whole exchange, was stood impatiently with his arms folded, staring at Sebastian like he himself was one of the odd specimens behind glass.

“…Then afterwards he’s buying us tickets to an exhibition about dinosaurs, are you listening to me?” The seven-year-old continued, as if concerned that Sebastian hadn’t heard him the first time.

Sebastian could just about make out the shape of the Englishman waiting for them by the entrance, a warm smile of encouragement plastered across his lips. He quickly nodded, not even realising that Jim had taken hold of his hand again until he felt the boy’s warm, sticky palm pressed against his own. He didn’t attempt to shake him away, instead he kept a firm grip of it whilst Jim navigated them through the sea of tourists, eagerly reeling off facts about Jupiter’s moons which he had read on the different information cards.

The tearooms, as it turned out, were already completely full by the time they arrived. It appeared as though the other families had already beaten them to the lunchtime rush, and after five minutes of hopelessly scouring for a table they eventually gave in, and were relegated to a wooden bench in the entrance hall. Sebastian and Jim were instructed by Brian to wait there while he left to get them all something to eat, and walked off scolding himself for not having brought packed lunches along with them to save them the trouble.

As they sat waiting, Sebastian spotted the two brothers from earlier, who were now accompanied by their mother and father. The younger boy had a firm clasp of his mother’s hand, and was cemented shyly against her side, a book on different types of woodland insects from the gift-shop clutched protectively in his other hand. This time Jim had spotted them too, only he seemed less interested as he watched them disappear through the entrance doors along with multiple other families, blowing a raspberry with his tongue out of sheer boredom and catching the attention of a rather startled elderly woman.

“This is boring.”

“Brian said he’d only be five minutes,” Sebastian tried reminding him, his previously-straightened posture having reduced to a slouch as his legs dangled effortlessly from the edge of the bench. Admittedly he was beginning to grow a little tired too from all of the non-stop walking, only he didn’t voice his opinion out loud in-case Jim decided to use it against him.

“Well that’s five minutes too long,” Jim sniffed scornfully, removing his hat and toying with it in his hands.

“But he promised to buy us ham sandwiches.”

“I don’t want a stupid sandwich.”

“What about-“

“I know what I’m doing, I don’t need to be bossed around by a stupid grown-up.”

Sebastian realised with a stab of dismay that Jim had entered one of his overly-stubborn moods again. It was no use trying to make the boy see sense, as no matter what he said or did it would be simply ignored by the raven-haired boy. The same thing happened frequently at their gang meetings, when more than once Jim had come to the conclusion that he was better than everybody else and therefore didn’t need to listen to anybody’s advice. Then again the last time he had had a miraculous idea it had ended up with a broken arm and a trip to the hospital - so Jim’s sudden epiphany at the museum wasn’t filling Sebastian with much hope.

Before Sebastian had a chance to comment, Jim had already sprung to his feet, placing his hands defiantly against his hips as a wide grin curled across the corners of his lips. It was one of his familiar, scheming grins, and with a frown of distrust the blond quickly stood up to match his smaller counterpart.

“Where are you going?”

“To have fun,” Jim decided boisterously, lowering the hat in his hand so that he could swing it freely by his side. “Are you coming?”

Sebastian hesitated, glancing back towards the cafe where he could see the back of Brian’s head currently waiting in line to pay for their lunches.

“How?”

“Stupid ‘Bastian, stop asking so many pointless questions. It’s not good for your brain.”

Realising that he wasn’t going to get an answer, Sebastian reluctantly abided. After eyeing the old Englishman for a few more seconds he finally tore his gaze away, and clambered to his feet so that he could follow after Jim who was already far in-front. Trying to catch up with Jim was tricker than anticipated; Sebastian’s profuse apologies bounced across the walls of the entrance hall as he wove in and out of the stream of tourists, eventually catching sight of Jim sneaking up one of the stairwells towards the section on fossils.

Since the majority of families were sitting down for lunch, the first floor of the museum was practically empty. Jim was already waiting for him by the time he reached the top of the stairs, his hand outstretched so that Sebastian could walk alongside him. The blond took his hand obediently, following Jim through the gallery as they found themselves surrounded by countless collections of prehistoric teeth and bones, as well as large rocks with supposed patterns carved into them. Jim came to an abrupt stop outside of one of the glass displays, and Sebastian came to stand beside him with a thoughtful smile.

“We learnt about fossils in school,” he piped up in hopes that it would impress the raven-haired boy. “Miss Trevors told us that there’s all different types. Apparently the dinosaurs left them behind after they died.”

“I don’t like Miss Trevors,” Jim cut in carelessly, teetering forward on his tip-toes as he attempted to read the information plaque inside of the display. “She’s got stupid hair and she wears ugly makeup.”

Sebastian felt a knot of discomfort form in his stomach at Jim’s overly-blunt description, and he found himself suddenly becoming rather defensive of the school-teacher.

“Don’t say that, she’s nice. She lets me stay behind sometimes during lunch to help organise the classroom.”

Barely a second had passed before Jim broke into an abrupt fit of giggles, turning to stare at Sebastian with an almost sympathetic look. A part of Sebastian was led to believe that it was mocking, and as the giggles gradually died down he was forced to simply clench his jaw so that he didn’t cave in to his urge to hit the seven-year-old.

“I always see her talking to the librarian at break time y’know,” Jim chimed thoughtfully, tugging on Sebastian’s sleeve to get him to follow along through the remainder of the gallery. The raven-haired boy ignored all of the plastic models and diagrams as they passed, focusing instead on the large information posters where he could actually learn something beneficial.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think they like each-other.”

“But…” Sebastian began helplessly. “They’re both ladies.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing! It’s just… I dunno, I didn’t realise she liked the librarian. I never returned my reading book last term.”

“It’s obvious really,” Jim shrugged nonchalantly. “They always look happy when they speak to each-other.”

“Do you think they’ll get married?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Are you allowed to marry somebody if you’re both ladies?”

They continued walking through the different galleries, passing section by section before eventually they were stopped by a middle-aged security guard as they neared the staircase to the entrance hall. There was a gentle smile playing on his lips, and in his hands Sebastian spotted the familiar sight of Jim’s souvenir cap.

“Somebody dropped this in the Triassic room… I think it might be yours, young man.”

Jim furiously snatched the hat back from the security guard’s clasp, adjusting it on top of his head with a disapproving huff. Sebastian thought that it was strange that the security guard recognised Jim’s hat, until he caught sight of Brian stood waiting for them sternly at the bottom of the stairs, and it suddenly clicked.

Sebastian had never heard Brian shout before - and the lecture he and Jim received shortly after leaving the museum was like nothing he had ever experienced in the eight years of living with his own father. The Englishman was extremely unhappy, made even more evident by how red his face had become, something which Jim later described as _‘looking like he was about to explode_.’ Sebastian didn’t realise how long they had been away for, until Brian revealed that he had spent just under an hour searching for them both after returning from the cafe to find the bench completely empty. As a result, they had been forced to eat their late sandwiches in silence on the steps outside of the museum, and despite Jim’s adamant protests he wasn’t allowed to visit the gift-shop before their departure either as punishment.

It was clear by the middle of the afternoon that Brian was beginning to feel guilty for losing his temper in the museum, and as a way of apologising he eventually offered to take Jim and Sebastian to London Zoo for the short remainder of the afternoon.

They arrived shortly before closing time, having travelled in the back of one of the dozens of black cabs that roamed the city. For both Jim and Sebastian, it had been their first time ever riding in one, and for the majority of the journey their faces had been pressed up against the window, admiring the flow of pedestrians moving back and forth across the crowded streets. Even though they had been shouted at, Jim remained in high spirits, and wasn’t afraid to laugh or point out of the window whenever he saw somebody on the street with a stupid haircut or questionable fashion choice - most notably the group of skinheads they had passed outside one of the youth centres near Paddington. Sebastian hadn’t taken the scolding nearly as well as Jim had, and was still fairly quiet as they rode together in the backseat, toying anxiously with the strings of his hoodie as he stared out of the taxi window. He knew that Brian was a nice man, overly-nice to the point that he wouldn’t even hurt a fly, yet regardless of the man’s constant apologising he still couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of regret for disappointing him. At least Jim didn’t appear to have the same problem - or at least not until the taxi driver chided him at the end of the journey for spending the entirety of it hurling insults out of the cab window. And despite Jim’s claims that he hadn’t done anything wrong, it still hadn’t been a good enough excuse for the angry driver, who ultimately charged Brian an extra fifty pence for Jim’s misbehaviour.

They were one of the last entries inside of the zoo that afternoon, and as they proceeded through the entrance gates the sky had already begun to fade into pale orange, the sun visibly sinking below the city skyline. With the end of the day nearing, the zoo was relatively quiet, apart from a few other families who had also taken the opportunity to seize the final few remaining hours of sunlight before it grew dark that evening. This time, Jim and Sebastian were both under strict orders to stay close to Brian’s side, and even Jim found himself unable to argue with the proposition - no matter how much it displeased him. So with that he trailed sulkily behind the Englishman’s coattail, kicking at stones whilst Sebastian attempted to navigate them through the zoo with the map he had picked up from the information kiosk.

“It says here that we’re near to the penguins and the tiger enclosure,” the eight-year-old explained, outstretching the map in-front of him as he squinted in confusion, trying to work out the route they needed to take.

He offered the map to Brian in hopes that he might be able to decipher it, however he barely even had a chance to respond before Jim had already snatched it away, and decided to read it for himself.

“I want to see the tigers,” The raven-haired boy declared without missing a beat, stuffing the map back into Brian’s palm. “…Sebastian likes tigers. His duvet cover is covered in them.”

At the mention of his duvet cover, Sebastian’s ears and cheeks went uncontrollably pink, and he mouthed an embarrassed ‘thank you’ to Jim.

Brian, who hadn’t spotted Sebastian’s reaction, smiled immediately at the suggestion, tucking the map carefully into his trouser pocket.

“I don’t see why not,” he agreed warmly, beckoning for the duo to follow him as his pace picked up once again. “And I’m sure we have enough time before closing if you boys fancy an ice cream. I think I spotted a van when we arrived.”

The tigers, just like Sebastian had hoped, were magnificent.

There were two of them in total in the enclosure, but only one was out on the grass, basking contently in the evening sun. According to the information panel her name was Suri - a six-year-old Sumatran tiger who had been taken into captivity after her mother was killed by poachers. As Sebastian leant over the railings, he couldn’t help but think that it was a rather cruel fate, that such a beautiful creature like the tigress was forced to reside in a dingy cage all day long while people stood and stared for their own amusement. He watched as she rolled over in the greenery, her orange, striped fur tickling the strands of grass below as without warning she opened her jaws. Sebastian braced himself for an almighty roar - only to be greeted instead by a tiresome yawn from the beast, who then proceeded to stand up and pace around the interior of the enclosure.

Due to Jim’s short stature, he didn’t quite reach the top of the railings. He arrived at the enclosure a few minutes after Sebastian, only because Brian had taken him to get an ice-cream beforehand, and by the time he returned his mouth was already smeared in melted chocolate. The seven-year-old traipsed over to where Sebastian was already standing, taking the occasional lick from his ice-cream as he climbed up onto his tiptoes to try and see what all the fuss was about.

After spotting the tiger mid-lick, Jim lowered his ice-cream and pulled a face.

“Why is it doing that?"

“She’s pacing up and down,” Sebastian explained in a hushed tone, still with his stare transfixed on the glimpse of black and orange stripes poking out from behind one of the bushes. “…She’s probably stressed. That’s what animals do when they’re in cages.”

The eight-year-old turned to Jim, only to realise that he was struggling to see above the tall metal railing barricading the enclosure. He carefully wrapped his arms around the smaller boy’s waist, hoisting him up so that he was level with the top of the fence. It wasn’t exactly hard to pick Jim up, not when he still weighed around the same as a toddler, and whilst the raven-haired boy polished off the rest of his ice-cream Sebastian kept a protective hold of him so that he didn’t fall. Jim showed his appreciation of the gesture by patting the top of Sebastian’s head, a bit like a dog, accidentally spilling a few stray drips of ice-cream onto his hair as he did so.

He placed Jim down once the seven-year-old decided that the penguins were more interesting than the tigers, and even when Jim disappeared off to rejoin his foster father, Sebastian lingered behind so that he could say his final goodbyes to the beast.

“Bye, Suri,” he mumbled feebly, watching the tigress who had stopped pacing, and was currently feasting on a slab of leftover meat. He smiled at the sight, allowing his hand to trail gently across the top of the railing. “I hope that one day you get to go back to the wild… I’ll come and see you again soon, I promise.”

At Brian’s beckoning, Sebastian reluctantly pulled away from the fence, offering a last wave to the disinterested animal before running back over to where the two others were waiting for him. Jim had begun to complain of a stomach-ache, so their plan to visit the penguin enclosure was subsequently scrapped in favour of going back to the hotel room for the night. Sebastian would’ve liked to stay a little longer, maybe to see the other big cats residing in the other parts of the zoo, however he couldn’t complain. He was going to miss Suri, even if their encounter had only been brief, and he trailed respectfully after Brian and Jim as they made their journey towards the entrance gates and out of the park.

All throughout the taxi-ride back to the hotel, Sebastian’s mind was swimming with images of tigers. Instead of sitting in cages, they were out roaming the wild, stalking the jungle as they pleased, and lurking in the shadows whilst waiting for their next victim. He liked to imagine them catching their prey more than anything - and even as they neared Westminster he still couldn’t shake away the imagine of Suri, the tigress, sinking her fangs into a particularly grisly piece of flesh, one which she had caught herself instead of being delivered by a zookeeper. The more he thought about it, the more he struggled to suppress a smile, and as they pulled up outside of the hotel entrance even Brian had started to pick up on Sebastian’s oddly-cheerful mood.

By the time they reached their rooms, Jim’s stomach-ache had worsened significantly, and he had recoiled into a tight, over-dramatic ball on-top of his bedsheets. 

Sebastian had been the one to go and get Brian, who had given them the same instructions as the previous night to brush their teeth and get ready for bed. He knocked three times on the door in total, standing gingerly in the hallway dressed in nothing but his pyjamas and his hoodie which he had hastily tugged on right before leaving.

Brian answered wearing a loose vest and a pair of striped boxer shorts, halfway through brushing his teeth judging by the thick layer of foam that had formed around his mouth and beard.

“Sebastian,” He hummed in mild surprise, letting go of the door handle as he observed the sheepish eight-year-old. “Is everything okay? How’s James?”

“Jim’s not feeling well,” Sebastian mumbled shyly.

“Is he still not any better?”

“He says his tummy still hurts.”

Brian sighed gently, offering an appreciative nod to Sebastian.

“It must be all the ice-cream,” he agreed, placing a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder as he guided him back to the twin-bedroom, using the key to unlock the door when there came no response from Jim.

“Hey, kiddo, is your stomach still giving you bother?”

Jim was still curled up on the bed, an arm wrapped tightly around his stomach as he grimaced and groaned. Taking the noises of discomfort to mean a solid ‘yes’, Brian tenderly approached, slotting himself onto the empty space on the bed so he could carefully coax Jim’s hair out from his face and try to comfort him. All Sebastian could do was stand awkwardly and watch, his hands shoved into his own hoodie pockets, fumbling around until he discovered a stray sweet stuck to the inside fabric - one which he had likely hidden for safekeeping. The sweet was probably extremely old, so he didn’t eat it, he just continued watching as Brian eventually persuaded Jim to stand up and take hold of his hand.

“I’m going to book us all an early flight home for tomorrow morning,” the Englishman spoke lowly, turning to Sebastian with an almost apologetic smile. “You don’t mind sleeping here by yourself for tonight, do you Sebastian? I think it’s best if I monitor James in my room in-case he starts feeling worse.”

It was strange that Jim didn’t object to the news of them leaving early, but by the look on his face it was clear to see that he was far more focused on trying not to throw up the excess of ice-cream he had eaten over the course of the last two days. Sebastian felt a knot in his stomach as he said his goodnights to the pair, and watched Brian escort Jim from the room - mainly from the feeling of protectiveness he still felt over the seven-year-old. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Brian, he had simply grown rather attached to having Jim by his side.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Sebastian became suddenly aware of just how quiet the room was without his fiery counterpart. Brian only had a double bed in his room, which meant that he and Jim would undoubtedly be forced to share, that was if Jim didn’t steal the entirety of the duvet for himself. Sharing wasn’t his strong-point. For the first few minutes, Sebastian tried listening out for any commotion, pressing his ear up against the wall as he tried to make out what was happening in the neighbouring room. When no success came of it, he reluctantly pulled himself away, pacing back over to his bed with a defeated huff.

With Jim gone, it meant that he could spend their final night in London sleeping in Jim’s bed next to the window, instead of his own bed next to the door. It wasn’t much of a victory, in-fact Sebastian realised that Jim’s mattress was even lumpier than his own when he came to sit on it, however the pillow still carried the familiar, comforting scent of the raven-haired boy, even despite his absence. It was the same sweet smell that he had picked up after visiting Jim’s house for the first time - the smell of candy floss mixed in with the strong scent of cigarettes that lingered in the hotel foyer. Jim’s hat from the Tower of London had been discarded at the end of the bed too from where it had been forgotten in a moment of panic. It looked almost sad without its owner, and the blue and red stripes appeared faded in the dim light of the bedroom. Sebastian would have touched it, but he didn’t feel quite right handling Jim’s property without the smaller boy being there, so in the end he left it abandoned at the end of the bed, and clambered carefully under the still-warm duvet cover so that he could get some much-needed sleep for himself.

At around midnight Sebastian was awoken to the sound of movement coming from the neighbouring room - more precisely what sounded like Jim being sick.

The noise caused the eight-year-old to roll over in discomfort, grunting slightly as he rubbed his eyes. After fumbling around for the lamp, he eventually located the switch and turned it on, allowing bright light to flood into the empty bedroom. The sounds from the other room had converted to voices, and as he laid there Sebastian found himself listening in on the exhausted conversation between Jim and his foster father.

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to get up, but after a few minutes Sebastian was back standing out in the hotel corridor once more, his fists balled as he prepared to knock on the door to Brian’s room. It only took one timid knock this time before the door to the room opened, and yet again the Englishman was stood there waiting for him.

“Sorry, Sebastian, we didn’t mean to wake you-"

“Can I stay with you two tonight?” The eight-year-old asked without missing a beat.

As he was ushered inside, Sebastian spotted Jim curled up on the bed, looking tired and pale. He was perched on the middle of the mattress, giving no room for either Sebastian or Brian to sit down if they wanted to, however at the sight of the blond stepping into the room he immediately grinned. There was a faint trace of sick staining his pyjama top, but in typical Jim Moriarty fashion he was virtually radiating with pure glee despite his illness.

“It’s late.”

“I wanted to see you.

“You came to see me?”

“Sorta… I just wanted to make sure that you were okay. I heard noises.”

Slowly, Jim shuffled over on the bed, a silent gesture for Sebastian to come and sit beside him. Sebastian immediately did as he was told, crawling onto the mattress as he joined his smaller counterpart, with Brian coming to lie on the other side of Jim. It was a tight squeeze; Jim’s foster father turned off the lamp as soon as they were all settled, plunging the room into instant darkness as the three of them grappled for their fair share of the duvet cover. Within five or so minutes the silence was broken by a series of heavy snoring, followed by Sebastian receiving a sharp kick to the leg. Brian hadn’t been the one to deliver it, the kick had been too sharp and agile for that, and Sebastian could easily tell that it was Jim by the laughter the smaller boy was trying to suppress.

“What did you do that for?!” He hissed adamantly.

Jim hummed in content, waiting for another snore to sound so that he could be completely sure that Brian was asleep, before he edged cautiously closer to Sebastian. Instinctively Sebastian engulfed the smaller boy in his arms, frowning a little at how hot and sticky his skin felt. It must have been a fever of some kind. He had experienced similar ones when he was younger, back when his mother was still around, and she would spend the days fussing around with all sorts of medicines and broths to try and boost his immune system.

“I just felt like it.”

“Well don’t do it again.”

“I wanted your attention.”

“Why?”

“Why’d you think, idiot? I’m ill, I want my hair stroked again.”

Despite the bad smell arising from Jim’s pyjama top, Sebastian continued to keep him close, not caring whether or not his own t-shirt became dirty as a result. He carefully brushed his fingers through Jim’s dark locks, admiring how soft they felt against his skin, and occasionally wrapping the odd strand around his little finger. Being with Jim made a nice change from being alone in the bedroom, mostly because Sebastian didn’t feel so scared anymore, even if it was only for one precious night.

It was hard to tell if Jim felt the same way or not, then again he wasn’t particularly good at expressing his emotions. Sometimes it worried Sebastian, to the point where he’d lay awake for hours at night after experiencing one of the raven-haired boy’s so-called ‘bad days’, filled with the inescapable feeling of worry that Jim might be in danger. On other nights his mind was filled with much happier thoughts - mainly if he had sat through a particularly good day at school, or if he had won a gruelling game of cowboys and Indians during one of their weekly gang meetings. Jim had decided only a week prior that Sebastian deserved to be promoted to the position of cowboy, which moved Dean into the category of Indians alongside Pip. The achievement was something which Sebastian was still relatively proud of, even if it had annoyed his fellow gang-members, and made him a personal target throughout the duration of their game.

Another five minutes passed, and just as Sebastian came to the conclusion that Jim had fallen asleep, he heard a hesitant whisper sounding from beside him.

“Sebastian?”

Jim’s voice was muffled from where his face was still pressed up firmly against Sebastian’s shirt, his accent noticeably thicker than it usually was as he battled against the strong urge to fall asleep.

“Hm?” The blond grunted in response, half-expecting Jim to announce that he was going to be sick again.

But thankfully nothing of the sort happened.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I dunno,” Sebastian admitted sheepishly after a pause, taken-aback by the sudden severity of the question.

“But you must have an idea,” Jim protested.

“I don’t know… A rugby player then I s’pose.”

The seven-year-old scoffed and rolled over, so that his back was turned against the blond.

“Boring.”

“Yeah well what do you wanna be then?”

For the first time since the start of their discussion, Jim fell silent, and in the darkness Sebastian could just about make out how fidgety the boy had become. He toyed with the idea momentarily, until finally giving in and shrugging his shoulders.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he revealed truthfully.

“I reckon you could be a maths professor,” Sebastian mused aloud. The thought alone of Jim stood in a suit and glasses giving complicated lectures was enough to make him smile. “…Or a scientist or an astronaut.”

“Like Kirstie and Brian?”

“Why not?”

“That’s dull.”

A low rumble stirred from the back of Brian’s throat, cutting off Jim and Sebastian’s heated conversation midway through. They both instantly fell silent, out of concern that they might accidentally wake the sleeping Englishman, before Sebastian dared to wrap his arms around Jim’s waist once more as he made himself comfortable. The mattress on Brian’s bed was far more comfortable than the two twin beds combined, and he couldn’t help but feel a small pang of envy for having almost missed out on the luxury. The older man’s snores had been reduced to a steady pattern now; there would be a chorus of small, subtle snores lasting for a few seconds, before he would erupt into an alarming loud snore a minute or so afterwards, and the whole cycle would continue again. When one of the louder snores sounded, Jim groaned each time in despair, covering his ears with his hands in a feeble attempt to block out the terrible noise.

“If you decide to live in London then can I come with you?”

“Are you sure you’d like it here?”

“Maybe I’d get used to it,” Sebastian mumbled gingerly, nibbling on the bottom of his lip. “Do they still play rugby in England?”

“I expect so.”

That answer alone was enough to satisfy the eight-year-old, who subsequently came to the conclusion that London might not be so bad after all, just as long as he didn’t develop one of those stupid posh accents, or be forced to flaunt around wearing a three-piece suit or grow an overly-large moustache. He could already see Jim fitting in well to city-life, maybe because of how hectic everything was.

It was Sebastian who proposed that they get some sleep, opposed to Jim who it seemed had miraculously recovered from his stomach-ache, and was now more hyper than ever. Jim was desperate to sneak out once again, only this time he wanted to head down into the hotel foyer to watch cartoons on the television he had spotted on their arrival. The blond rejected his idea as soon as the suggestion left Jim’s lips; not only would they get into big trouble, but the usual cartoons didn’t start until seven o’ clock in the morning anyway.

Jim, although disappointed, realised that for once Sebastian had a point. He rolled back over to face the blond, resting his head comfortably against his shoulder as he closed his eyes. Brian’s snores droned on tediously, and the longer they continued on for, the harder it was for them to sleep. After some careful consideration, Sebastian glanced down towards where the top of Jim’s head was currently nestled against his chest, using the opportunity to ask one final question.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he whispered, feeling Jim’s body shift slightly as the other boy tried to look at him through the dim-light.

“…If you ever go to London, d’you still promise to be my best friend?”

“Course.”

“But that’s not a promise.”

“I don’t need to promise, you already know I will. Now go to sleep, ‘Bas.”

The morning of their departure was bittersweet. Sebastian and Jim stood side by side on the damp pavement outside of the hotel, watching as their suitcases and bags were loaded into the back of the taxi taking them to the airport. Jim had been oddly quiet all morning, even when they had sat down for breakfast; Sebastian had a feeling that the sole reason for his mood was their early departure, but he couldn’t blame him. It had been a nice trip, maybe not entirely, but he had certainly enjoyed the moments spent with Jim exploring the city.

Jim scuffed his trainers against the pavement, emitting a low growl when Brian explained that it was at last time to leave. His souvenir hat, along with the rest of his belongings, had been packed away inside one of the suitcases, not to be opened until they got home to Dublin. It felt strange seeing Jim without the hat, considering how religiously he had worn it during their holiday, then again Jim had been in a foul mood since the very start of their morning, even before they had left their room.

Sebastian on the other hand was holding in his hand the postcard that he had bought from the tower. Brian suggested that he put it in his suitcase for safekeeping until they got to Ireland, however Sebastian had been adamant that he wanted to keep it with him for good luck. Jim, who had previously been kicking pebbles across the street and into the gutter, took interest in the card, and boldly approached Sebastian so that he could view it for himself.

“Is that for your dad?” He asked curiously, his eyes lighting up when the eight-year-old outstretched the postcard to him to hold.

He gladly took it, flipping it over onto the other side after admiring the photograph for a few seconds, only to frown at the revelation that the other side was completely blank. There wasn’t even a stamp.

“…There’s no writing on it.”

Sebastian took the postcard back from Jim, slotting it into his hoodie pocket with a triumphant smile.

“I don’t need to write on it.”

The taxi horn sounded impatiently. It was time for them to go.

“Why? I thought you were supposed to be good at writing.”

“Because I'm going to tell my dad everything myself... I want to tell him all about you.”


	10. Pip's Resignation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the final day of the Summer holidays, Jim is forced to deal with one of the gang's most disobedient members after receiving a tip off.

“What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

“He’s late, I’m gonna kill him.”

On the final day of the summer holidays, Jim called for an urgent gang meeting in the woods. The reasoning behind his sudden demand revolved solely around one gang member in particular - Phillip Packwood.

Pip was in big trouble.

Ever since his twelfth birthday two weeks ago, Pip’s behaviour had started to grow increasingly strange and erratic. For starters, he never attended gang meetings or came to say hello in the school playground anymore, choosing instead to spend his lunchtimes hanging around with the other boys in his class so that they could wolf-whistle and perv on the numerous girls who walked past the school gates. Pip turning twelve had changed a lot of things; for instance his voice was now deeper than Sebastian recalled it being during their first meeting, and his face had erupted into an array of large, ugly, red spots covering every inch of his forehead and cheeks. The most prominent change however was the older boy’s anger - which had now festered into uncontrollable fits of violence and swearing, resulting in him getting into frequent fights with the teenagers from the drug-den at the end of the street.

As if Pip’s behaviour wasn’t already bad enough, the final straw came when Jim received news that he had been spotted kissing a curly-haired girl underneath the monkey bars in the local park. The girl in question, as it turned out, was a student of the all-girls school opposite from the chip shop. According to Dean, who had been the one to spot her, she was only short in stature, with frizzy blonde hair and an obnoxious, juvenile laugh that carried through the air like a foghorn. The description reminded Sebastian of the girl who Pip had snuck off with during the school rugby match a few months prior, and he realised with a pang of dismay that unless she had an identical twin then they must have been dating for some time.

Jim was utterly furious at the revelation - which was bad news for both Sebastian and Dean. His temper tantrum had kicked off almost immediately after receiving the news, resulting in thrown pillows and a hole in the wall which he had been forced to begrudgingly explain to his foster parents. It was understandable as to why Jim was so angry; during each of their initiation ceremonies they had been forced to swear an oath forbidding them from ever kissing any girls, and Pip had broken that promise in favour of a stupid Catholic girl.

The meeting was supposed to have started ten minutes ago, with Jim, Sebastian, and even Dean all gathered at Castle Moriarty waiting for the traitor to show his face. Jim was perched on top of the tyre swing, which acted more like a throne nowadays, with the two older boys stood either side of him - partially resembling guard dogs. Jim was beginning to grow fidgety, made evident by how his fingers had started to drum impatiently against the side of the rubber tyre, to the annoyance of both Sebastian and Dean. The two of them were stood wielding large sticks in their hands, after being instructed to arm themselves in preparation for a potential attack. Admittedly if Pip decided to throw a punch then a lousy stick wouldn’t be much help, but they were Jim’s orders and not even Dean had the guts to disobey them. Besides, Jim was wearing the gold medal around his neck that afternoon, and he only ever wore the cheap plastic when something important was about to happen.

Since returning from London, Sebastian and Dean’s friendship had unexpectedly blossomed. Despite being almost five years older than the blond, Dean treated him just like an equal; without the knowledge of Jim they sometimes went to the playing fields together, and on one occasion Dean had even introduced Sebastian to his sister who studied at the community college. Sebastian sometimes felt a little bad for not involving Jim in his antics, however being with Dean felt different to being with Jim. Whenever he spent time with the redhead, he was left with an unexplainable fuzzy feeling in his chest, whether they were playing football in the park or sat in Dean’s bedroom whilst Dean proudly showed him his stash of lewd magazines he kept hidden underneath the bed.

Dean never usually spoken about girls, or not in a romantic way at least. He spoke about his sister sometimes; she was three years older than him, making her the eldest compared to Dean and his two younger sisters. Sebastian never saw her much during his visits, apart from when she was downstairs in the kitchen doing her coursework, or attempting to smuggle her boyfriend up to her bedroom without anybody seeing. According to Dean his sister’s boyfriend was called Ray, and they had been dating on and off for seven months now. Sebastian didn’t trust Ray very much, despite having only seen him a few fleeting times. He was more of a man than a boy, and was most probably lying about his real age, with a gravelly voice and clothes which permanently stunk of cigarette smoke and much more illegal narcotics. Whenever Ray was around, Dean always appeared noticeably uncomfortable, and they would retreat to the playing fields where Dean would educate Sebastian on all different types of Formula One cars and rugby teams until it was time for the eight-year-old to go home for his tea. Sometimes Dean would accompany him during the walk home, where the redhead would answer all of Sebastian’s burning questions in an attempt to quell the eight-year-old’s ever-growing curiosity. Naturally there were more questions that Sebastian wanted to ask, about puberty and what it might feel like to kiss somebody, but asking those questions required levels of confidence which he simply didn’t have. And even when on the odd occasion he did ask Dean about what it might feel to date somebody, he was met with a series of laughter and the assurance that ‘ _you’re only eight, Seb, you don’t have to worry about those things just yet.’_

“Are you positively sure you saw Pip kissing a girl?”

Jim rounded on the tall redhead, glaring at him with a frown of distrust. His legs were dangling from the edge of the tyre swing, exposing his rolled up socks and battered trainers, with his hands clutched tightly to the two tethers of rope each side to prevent him from losing his balance.

“It was definitely Pip,” Dean confirmed confidently. “I saw his glasses and everything. He was wearing the same Jaws t-shirt that he always wears.”

Jim huffed in discontent.

“Swear on it?”

“I swear on my life it was him.”

Jim always liked making his fellow gang-members swear on their lives, even more so when they actually agreed to it. In his eyes it was an extremely stupid thing to do, especially when it was nothing but old superstition, like magpies bringing sorrow or how you shoes upon the table supposedly gave you bad luck. It was one of the things he hated most about Catholicism, the nonsense superstitions, as well as the abundance of stupid rules that you had to follow such as attending Mass or going to confession. But Jim figured if he had to go to confession every time he did something bad like was supposed to then he’d be there for a very long time.

Nevertheless, he hummed in content at Dean’s promise, hopping down from his tyre swing as he spotted a familiar face trudging towards them in the distance. Pip marched heatedly along the pathway, without any regard for the flowers or plants he was trampling over, wearing the same t-shirt that Dean had described as well as his usual pair of rounded glasses. They had been crooked for some time now; the frame was broken and had been wrapped in a copious amount of tape in a feeble effort to try and salvage it, and the glasses themselves helped to disguise the large bruise covering Pip’s left eye. It made Sebastian wonder who he had pissed off this time to earn the new addition to his face. No doubt it was the drug dealers from number twenty seven again.

Pip came to a halt in-front of the trio of boys, his face contorted with a furious scowl of disbelief. At once Dean and Sebastian raised their sticks threateningly into the air, only to lower them almost immediately afterwards at the realisation that Pip wasn’t going to launch an attack at them. The sticks fell with a dissatisfactory thud onto the earthy ground below, however Pip’s eyes remained fixated primarily on the scrawny gang-leader.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s better that you came, otherwise we would’ve pissed through your letterbox like we did to Mister O’Leary’s house,” Jim pointed out bluntly, earning nothing but silence from the other gang-members in return.

Nobody laughed, especially since it was unclear whether Jim was joking or not. Sebastian, who was still relatively new to gang procedures, looked around for any sign of clarification, only to be met with even more silence. Dean remained emotionless, coincided with Pip’s twisted expression of horror, which gave Sebastian the hunch that it wasn’t the first time Jim had threatened such a thing. He wouldn’t put it past him; a particularly-gruelling game of truth and dare during their last gang meeting had resulted in a permanent ban from the corner shop, after Jim had dared Dean to steal a whole jar worth of fizzing sweets from behind the counter. Not wanting to disobey, Dean did as he was told, only to be met by the enraged, broom-wielding shop assistant, who had not only banned Dean from the shop, but also Jim and Sebastian who had their grubby faces pressed against the window outside in order to see what was happening. The news of their ban was enough to rile up Jim, who had caved in to his sugar withdrawal by the following afternoon, and decided to seek revenge. This time it was a matter for all three of them - who used Sebastian’s slingshot to take it in turns firing rocks at the glass display jars of sweets lining the windows of the corner shop. Sebastian was undoubtably the best out of all of them, and at Jim’s command he destroyed three out of the four sweet jars on the shelf, watching in awe as the multi-coloured contents of each spilled out onto the floor. As expected, their little stunt quickly became the talk of the town, and every house in Grosvenor Street was now suddenly aware of Jim Moriarty and his gang of misfits. Even Jim himself had declared it to be his ‘proudest achievement’.

“You wouldn’t do that, my gran lives with us.”

“You broke gang rules, and for that you’re lucky we aren’t goin’ to beat you up.”

Pip looked firstly towards Dean, then to Sebastian. He appeared more alarmed by the concept of Sebastian beating him up than Dean, mainly because despite Dean’s tall stature he was all-too-aware of Sebastian’s notorious reputation at school. Sebastian liked to think that he wasn’t just known for his violent temperament, but it was clear that the other boys at school still didn’t trust him after what had happened to Elliot Thompson. He was well-aware of the stares he received whilst walking the corridors, the way in which the other students all stepped aside whenever he approached in fear that they might become his newest victim.

It didn’t take Sebastian long to pick up on the fact that Pip was staring too, and his initial embarrassment was quickly replaced by heavy annoyance when Pip didn’t retract the stupid, shit-eating grin on his face.

“You won’t beat me up,” Pip sneered spitefully. “You’ll get Sebastian to do it, jus’ like you get him to do everything. Face it, you’re just a little kid.”

As soon as the words escaped the boy’s lips, Sebastian became uncomfortably aware of the tense atmosphere surrounding the thicket of trees they were gathered underneath. The use of his name was enough to make the blond’s ears and cheeks redden with humiliation, so much so that he barely noticed Dean’s hand on his shoulder, steadying him in order to prevent a potentially-gruesome outburst. Despite the hand belonging to the trusted redhead, Sebastian hastily shook it away with a snarl. It didn’t take long for Dean to realise that his presence wasn’t appreciated, and quickly stepped back as not to infuriate the eight-year-old any more.

It was Jim’s turn now to furiously retort, this time without one of the usual snide remarks or inappropriate comments he often dished out to his fellow gang members. He stood wedged between the two older boys onlooking Pip with a face like thunder, his bemused glare resembling somebody who had just been told they only had six weeks to live. Pip had hit a weak spot, and it showed.

“I’m not little. I’m going to be eight next month, just you wait.”

But the traitor merely shook his head.

“You still sound like a baby an’ all.” Pip was clearly enjoying the spotlight, especially the opportunity of getting to rile up Jim, who until now had been considered untouchable. And it seemed to be working. “…You only get Sebastian to look after you ‘cos mammy and daddy aren’t here. They probably ran away so they didn’t have to look after a snot-nosed brat like you. You made them run away.”

But instead of Jim who reacted, it was Sebastian, who within a split second had already lunged forward and tackled Pip to the ground, sending them both crashing down into the damp undergrowth below. Pip wasn’t quick enough to dodge the punch that Sebastian threw in his direction, and a howl of agony coincided with an alarming crunch of what sounded like bone being broken. After delivering a few more frenzied punches Sebastian was finally dragged away from the boy, and the extent of Pip’s injury came into view; he was sprawled on top of the bed of grass, his hands carefully cupping his nose, where blood had began to pour out of his nostrils either side. The non-stop flurry of blood was hot and thick, and stained Pip’s skin and the fabric of his trousers as he attempted to work out what to do with it all. He whimpered feebly, a sound which Sebastian didn’t think he heard ever heard the older boy emit before.

Pip wasn’t the type of boy to show that he was hurting, not when it made him look weaker than he wanted to portray himself to be. It was one of the reasons why the older teenagers liked him so much, as well as the fact he sometimes stole his gran’s cigarettes for them.

He eventually scrambled to his feet, smearing the back of his hand across his nose to catch the remainder of blood, a few strands of which had dribbled down to his mouth and chin. It was almost like a toddler who hadn’t quite yet grasped the concept of table manners whilst eating.

“Gangs are for little kids, an’ I’m not a little kid anymore,” he reiterated through a nasally voice, one which Sebastian found secretly rather satisfying. “I didn’t even break any of your stupid gang rules anyway. You’re all mad.”

The sudden outbreak of violence had left Jim stunned, but not displeased. He waited until the majority of Sebastian’s rage had subsided, before beckoning him over and automatically wrapping his arms around the blond’s waist before he had the chance to complain. Sebastian eventually succumbed to the touch despite his initial hesitance, and tried his best to ignore the way in which Jim was petting his hair like a dog, and occasionally mumbling things like _‘good boy, ‘Bastian’_ into the crook of Sebastian’s neck. When he did eventually pull away, Jim’s demeanour quickly soured again, and he resumed the same, disapproving glare which he had been directing at Pip since the very start of the meeting.

“Dean says he saw you kissing a girl the other day at the park.” He addressed finally, his gaze thoroughly fixated on the boy with the bleeding nose.

“Then Dean’s a fuckin’ snitch.”

“Well did you?”

“So what if I did?”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t understand w-"

“Or were you too busy sticking your tongue down her throat to bother learning it?”

“Katie,” Pip retorted bitterly, his eyes flickering uneasily between the trio of boys all opposing him. “Her name’s Katie Thompson. The one whose brother was in hospital, the boy that Sebastian beat up. She lives across the street from me.”

Katie Thompson. The surname rung an unpleasant bell for not only Sebastian but for Jim too, whose lips parted into an ‘o’ shape at the stark realisation of who exactly Pip had gotten himself involved with. The smaller boy paled significantly at the mention of the name, his disbelief manifesting itself into anger as he furiously creased his brow.

“You’ve been fraternising with the enemy!” He shrieked adamantly, keen to avoid the subject of the girl’s brother, the same one who not long ago had become a victim of Jim’s plot to kill him with Strychnine. “You aren’t s’posed to go around snogging bullies’ sisters, what good’s that supposed to do?!”

“Yeah well what was I supposed to do instead? Her brother almost died, she was upset.” Pip could sense the change in atmosphere surrounding the woods, however the reason why was unknown to him. All he could assume was that the majority of Jim’s anger came from the fact he was dating a girl, but it certainly wasn’t jealousy. The only things that ever made Jim jealous were grown-ups who didn’t have to abide by the rules and the people who won the Nobel Prize for science every year. Girls were out of the question.

“Her brother’s a bully, he deserved it for making fun of me. Besides she’s an ugly girl anyway, nobody would want to kiss her,” Jim sniffed scornfully.

“What would you know about girls? Everybody knows what you are.”

Jim stopped at the sudden change of subject, immediately letting go of the insult he had originally planned on using. He was going to call Katie Thompson a fat-mouthed cow, an insult he had seen on one of the television shows Brian had been watching one evening while he was supposed to be asleep, until his train of thought was subsequently broken by Pip’s strange use of language…Because it wasn’t ‘who you are’, it was ‘ _what_ you are’, and that could only spell trouble. Jim wobbled uneasily where he stood against the bed of grass, almost hoping that it had been nothing but a simple mix up of communication, or maybe it was just Pip’s dyslexia getting in the way again. He didn’t quite know what exactly the condition was, but surely it was enough to sometimes get your sentences muddled up.

But Pip was smiling, and the almost-triumphant grin plastered across his lips didn’t fill Jim with much confidence.

“What d’you mean?”

“My gran’s told me about people like you.”

“People like what?”

“Poofs,” Pip explained bluntly. “Queers. They’re everywhere, I hate them. You’re a freak just like the rest of them. Everybody knows that’s why you hate girls so much.”

Despite the severity of the accusation, at first Jim didn’t react. He stood rigidly underneath the canvas of tree branches, suddenly aware that everybody’s eyes were directed at him. But he couldn’t move, or say anything, he could only stare at Pip with a combination of fear and confusion. It took a few seconds for Jim to snap out of his daze, and even when he finally plucked up the courage to turn to Sebastian and Dean his face was still awash with the same expression of panic. Like a deer caught in headlights.

“Well say something then!” Jim demanded determinedly. “Tell him I’m not a poof!”

For Sebastian, it felt as though his chest had tightened uncontrollably, like some invisible force was crushing his airways and making it impossible for him to come up with a single coherent thought. Jim was staring at him again, the same stare he had seen only once before during the timeline of their friendship. It was the exact same look of fear as when he had been humiliated in the school lunch hall, only this time Jim appeared practically paralysed with confusion, not understanding why neither of his faithful cronies had come to his aid by sticking up for him.

On occasions such as this, Sebastian was reminded with a stab of guilt just how small Jim really was. There he was, nothing but a scrawny almost-eight year old surrounded by boys much stronger and taller than himself, who could take him down in less than a few seconds if he gave them enough of a reason to. But it wasn’t the fear of being beaten up that frightened Jim, it was the use of the single insult that had left him resembling nothing more than a scared little boy, one who hadn’t had the chance to grow up yet. He still hadn’t fully grown into the adult-sized clothes he was wearing, or even lost some of the baby fat around his face and cheeks. His t-shirt hung low around his kneecaps like a dress, his raven-black hair still sticking out in fiery tufts from where he must have forgotten to brush it that morning. He may have been a fierce ringleader, but at the end of the day Jim Moriarty was still only seven. He didn’t know what he was doing, he _couldn’t_ know what he was doing. That was supposed to be Sebastian’s job, to protect him from anybody who might dare to lay so much as a finger on him. To protect him from harm’s way. A job which he had ultimately failed at.

Jim sniffed and wiped a dribble of snot from his nose with the corner of his t-shirt, just as Sebastian finally lost control of his temper, and found himself rounding on Phillip.

“Jim’s not a poof,” Sebastian spoke defensively. “So piss off an’ leave him alone. That’s right, isn’t it, Jim?”

The reaction, though slightly delayed, still earned a sulky nod of approval from Jim. Sebastian took that to mean that he was at-least partially forgiven for not speaking up earlier, nothing that couldn’t be fixed by profusely apologising until Jim deemed that he was satisfied enough. But Pip seemed to be less pleased by the turn of events, and pulled a face of evident discontent at Sebastian’s sudden ‘heroic’ change of mood.

“You’re just as bad as him,” he criticised bitterly. “Don’t think you’re any better jus’ because you act like his mammy. You still can’t control your anger-”

“-That’s enough, Pip. Leave them alone, they’re only kids.”

Dean stepped forward, indicating for the bloody-nosed boy to leave.

“Why’re you sticking up for them? They’re both freaks!”

When there came no immediate response, Pip grunted furiously and grabbed his jumper, kicking stubbornly at the pile of broken twigs and debris beneath his feet as he knotted the sleeves around his waist.

“…Y’know what, I quit. I don’t wanna be involved in a stupid gang anymore. I want to have a girlfriend, not play stupid kid’s games.”

“Then you’re banished from ever stepping foot in the woods again.”

“Banished? You don’t own the woods, what’re you gonna do if I come back?”  
  
“We’ll kill you,” Jim declared without missing a beat. “An’ your gran too. Hasn’t she got diabetes?”

At the mention of his grandmother, Pip noticeably backed away from the trio, directing a glare of disgust at Jim in particular for even insinuating something so horrid. He swallowed thickly, attempting to play off the suggestion with a dismissive shrug.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

Jim stuck his tongue out irritably, blowing an overly-annoying raspberry in return.

“Hyperglycaemia is when you eat too much sugar, right? Tell her to lay off the biscuits before something bad happens.”

“You’re a freak,” Pip snapped furiously, keeping a close eye on Jim until he was sure that he wasn’t going to pull any sudden stunts, before tearing away from the raven-haired boy as he stormed from the fort, kicking at the tyre swing with all of his might on his way out. The rubber tyre trembled against the ropes supporting it, rocking back and forth as the force of Pip’s kick mingled with the steady breeze of the afternoon air. Even as Pip disappeared off behind the thicket of trees, the tyre continued to swing along to the same stable rhythm, however the otherwise-silence was soon interrupted by Jim’s sudden war-like scream. It echoed around the surrounding treetops, causing a few of the nesting birds to scatter in terror.

“TRAITOR!”

As soon as Pip had vanished, Sebastian instinctively turned to his smaller counterpart, this time with a feeble smile wavering on his lips. He outstretched a hand to deliver a playful punch to Jim’s shoulder, only for Jim to recoil immediately and shove the blond’s hand away. The smile quickly dropped from Sebastian’s lips, and he was left somewhat hurt by the abrupt rejection of what he had considered to be a friendly gesture.

“What was that for? Pip’s gone!” He demanded incredulously.

“You!” Jim shrieked instantly in response, turning on the blond. “You’re useless! Both of you!”

“But what did we-“

“Nothing, that’s the problem! You let him call me those names and you did nothing… You’re both idiots and I hate you!”

When neither Sebastian or Dean responded, too stunned to even attempt to string together a sentence, Jim grabbed his backpack from the mud-soaked ground and tugged the straps over his shoulders, before tearing off the medal around his neck and almost breaking it in the process. After carelessly shoving the flimsy piece of plastic and ribbon into his pocket, he turned to address the two older boys. For the first time there were no jokes, no insulting comments hurled at Dean for the colour of his hair or Sebastian’s lanky frame. During their last meeting they had all cycled home together, their mouths stuffed with sweets as they laughed and raced home against the setting sun. But tonight Jim appeared tired, the entirety of his face plastered with hurt. He looked smaller than ever.

“The meeting’s over. I’m going home.”

“But I thought we were going to the chip shop tonight.”

“I already told you, I’m going home.”

“It’s the last day of Summer,” Sebastian added helplessly, as if hoping that the reminder would help to convince Jim to change his mind.

“In that case I’ll see you at school.”

There was no routine trip to the chip shop that night; neither Sebastian or Dean found themselves particularly in the mood for a greasy bag of chips, especially not after the tumultuous day’s events.

Since takeaway chips were no longer on the menu, Sebastian had asked Dean if he wanted to come over to his house instead, especially considering Dean’s own house was off-limits since his sister’s boyfriend had decided to stay over for the weekend. It wasn’t certain whether his father would be at home that evening, but Dean had already accepted the invitation eagerly, and considering it was Sunday there was an almost definite chance that his father had gone to seek out his usual fix of alcohol. Thankfully he never usually stayed for too long on Sundays, not like most Saturday nights when he often didn’t return home until the early hours of the morning, accompanied by his usual cluster of friends as they helped themselves to whatever remains of alcohol there were in the kitchen cupboards and complained about the state of the world. Sometimes Sebastian would listen from the top of the stairs, but their conversations were never pleasant. His father’s friends were always so angry when they were drunk, reflecting their resentment in the crude comments they made about the barmaid who had served them drinks that night, where the conversation would sometimes drift towards the topic of women in general, Sebastian’s mother often being a main talking point.

_“Where do you think the bitch is now?”_

_“No clue… She never calls. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s left Dublin for good. Good riddance, that’s what I say.”_

_“But what about the boy?”_

_“What, Sebastian? What about him?”_

_“Doesn’t she ever come to visit?”_

_“Not once.”_

_“…Poor bugger, he must be devastated.”_

_“Sebastian’s a tough kid, I don’t think he minds too much.”_

“What’s your dad like?” Dean asked curiously as he pushed his bike along the tarmac road, with Sebastian accompanying him alongside.

The final day of the summer holidays was always bittersweet. In an ideal world Sebastian would never have to return to school, he’d never have to face his classmates again or sit through another stupid lesson of geography. As long as they had the gang then he didn’t need school; instead of lessons the remainder of his life could be comprised of playing cowboys and Indians and cops and robbers, guzzling down sweets until he felt sick without having to be worried about paying taxes or finding a job. Sebastian didn’t want to work, not if it would just result in him getting laid off like his father had been.

“Dunno, he’s just like any other dad I s’pose,” he mumbled in response to Dean’s question, towing his bike behind him as the wheels bounced and wobbled when caught off-guard by a stray pebble or clump of tarmac on the roadside.

“We moved to Dublin without my dad,” Dean added thoughtfully. “He went to go live in Spain with his new girlfriend. He comes to visit sometimes and brings us presents, he bought me a shark tooth last time. Mam reckons it’s just a fake though.”

“Don’t you miss him?”

“Nah, it’s better with just my mam and sisters. They used to argue all of the time, it’s a lot quieter now.”

“What did they argue about?”

“Dad used to sleep with other women,” Dean explained with a nonchalant shrug. “Whenever mam caught him she’d kick him out, an’ he’d come crawling back the next morning begging for her to forgive him.”

The front-door was already open when Sebastian tried to knock, and after dumping his bike in the forecourt and instructing Dean to do the same he led him inside through to the silent kitchen so that they could search for something to eat. Sebastian noted that his father’s shoes were missing from the hallway, as was his coat, leaving him to safely assume that the man was already settling down to his first pint of the evening.

Whilst Sebastian climbed up onto the counter so that he could rummage through the cupboards, Dean took the opportunity to look around the room. It hadn’t been properly cleaned in a few days, apart from when Sebastian had moved a pile of unwashed clothes out of the way of the fridge so that he had room to open the door; the sink was stacked high with dirty dishes and cutlery, and a funny, slightly-repugnant smell was seeping out from inside of the fridge. Sometimes if his father was busy sleeping off his hangover then Sebastian would take it upon himself to do the dishes, only that week he had forgotten to, hence why the countertop was spilling with different-patterned plates that had once been gifted as a wedding present, only now they were covered in the dried remains of baked beans and tomato ketchup.

The blond eventually hopped down from the countertop, having successfully managed to locate a loaf of bread and half a portion of spaghetti hoops.

“Want me to help?” Dean asked quizzically, drawing his attention away from the mess in the kitchen as he focused on the metaltin clasped in Sebastian’s hand.

But Sebastian determinedly shook his head.

“I’ve got it,” he promised assuringly, tearing open the packet of bread and slotting four pieces of white bread into the toaster, before adjusting the dials of the stove as a sudden spark ignited beneath one of the pans.

Sebastian carefully poured the remaining contents of the tin into the pan, checking to make sure that the bread in the toaster hadn’t burnt yet. The expiry date had been scratched from the back of the spaghetti tin, but judging by the lack of horrible smell it must have been safe to eat without the risk of food poisoning. Admittedly he was rather apprehensive about using the stove, especially since his father would shout at him if he ever caught him using it, but he had cooked his own tea a few times in the past when it had just been him alone in the house. They were never anything extravagant, just beans on toast or the occasional bowl of cereal if he was feeling particularly lazy, but once his father had sobered up he often apologised profusely and offered to take Sebastian out somewhere special for dinner as a way of making it up to him, even if it was just the local cafe.

The first piece of toast pinged up and Sebastian quickly caught it midway through the air, balancing two slices on each plate as fast as he could to prevent the hot food from burning his hand. When Dean asked where the drinks were kept, the blond directed him to the carton of orange juice on the bottom shelf of the fridge, and he carefully poured the pan of spaghetti hoops over each plate, watching as the bread soaked up the tomato sauce to create a heap of murky-red. Dean had no trouble in finding the carton, and soon returned with two glasses of juice, placing them both down upon the tabletop as he took a seat.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The redhead asked warily, toying with his fork as he looked to Sebastian, who was stabbing aggressively at one of the stray spaghetti hoops on his plate that had become separated from the rest of his food, trying and failing to load it onto his fork.

Each time the prongs of the fork missed, Sebastian would scowl and try again, each time getting more and more frustrated with himself for failing to do even the simplest of tasks. It took three attempts in total before finally he succeeded, shovelling a large forkful of food into his mouth as he considered Dean’s question.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The older boy took a somewhat more polite bite of his own food, lowering his fork as he eyed Sebastian uncertainly.

“After what happened at the woods today… You know it wasn’t your fault, you did the right thing by sticking up for Jim. I’m sure it’ll blow over soon.”

Sebastian finished his original mouthful of food, huffing in discontent. It tasted like nothing special, if anything the toast was slightly burnt, but there were more pressing matters than a slice of charred bread.

“I wish Pip would keep his big mouth shut.”

“He’s not so bad,” Dean assured him quietly, manoeuvring a few pieces of spaghetti around his plate with the tip of his fork. One fell from the edge of the plate after Dean was a little too careless, and he hastily picked it up and placed it in his mouth, attempting to wipe away the sauce stains that had dribbled off of his plate and onto the wooden table. “He gets angry sometimes but he’s okay really. I don’t think he meant to say those things to Jim.”

Sebastian made no effort to reply, he simply kept his head low and polished off the first slice of toast, suddenly not particularly fancying the second. His stomach had started to ache, most likely from the nerves churning away inside of him rather than a dodgy tin of spaghetti. He didn’t agree with the part about Pip not meaning what he said; Pip wasn’t bright when it came to maths and English, but he was good at knowing how to rile people up. If Pip hadn’t meant to say it then surely he would have apologised, apologised to Jim in particular for calling him a queer and a freak. But Sebastian couldn’t think about the incident without being reminded of the raven-haired boy’s defeated expression and cries of protest, and he decided he’d rather not think about it at all.

“Do you normally cook dinner for yourself?” Dean asked, who alike Sebastian was keen to change the subject to something less unpleasant.

Sebastian, who was finding it increasingly hard to divert his thoughts away from the incident at the woods, merely shrugged his shoulders.

“Only when dad’s at the pub, but he’ll be back soon.”

“I can’t wait ’til I can go to the pub.” Dean grinned brightly. “We’ve got alcohol in the cupboards at home. I try it sometimes when nobody’s there.”

Sebastian lowered his fork and frowned.

“What does it taste like?”

“Sorta…all fizzy. Sometimes it hurts the back of your throat, but that’s only if you drink too much.”

“But that sounds horrible.”

“It’s grown-up. C’mon, have you really never tried any?”

Sebastian’s frown deepened, and he slowly shook his head. In return, Dean emitted a low chuckle, one which crackled in places from where his voice still hadn’t fully settled. It wasn’t a challenge finding alcohol in the Moran household; most, if not all, of the countertops and tables were lined with numerous bottles and different-coloured cans, the only difficult part was deciphering which ones still had drink left in them.

The eight-year-old nibbled his lip anxiously as he watched Dean scower the room, cursing and grunting under his breath when the vast majority of cans appeared to be empty. It was only after disappearing to the living room that he returned with a glass bottle in his hand, one he had plucked straight from Sebastian’s father’s armchair.

“You don’t think your dad will mind, will he?” Dean asked curiously, pinching the bottle between his fingers as he swirled the golden liquid around the interior, watching as it proceeded to splash against the sides like the calm of an ocean before the storm. Sebastian leant forward in his seat as he attempted to get a closer look at the bottle, tilting his head up inquisitively as he caught sight of his own reflection against the glass.

“We’ll get in big trouble if he catches us.”

“Nonsense,” the redhead promised, unscrewing the lid of the bottle before outstretching it for Sebastian to take a quick whiff. He obediently did so, instantly scrunching up his nose in dismay as the putrid smell travelled down his nose. He could’ve sworn that it had burnt his nostrils in the process. “There’s only a tiny dribble left. He won’t even notice if we throw it away.”

Dean set the example by taking the first confident swig from the bottle. After raising the glass to his lips he downed a small mouthful, allowing the liquid to trickle onto his tongue and down the back of his throat. He didn’t react after swallowing it, apart from the discreet twitch that Sebastian noticed from the corner of his eye, however within a few seconds the redhead had already lowered the glass bottle once more, clutching it triumphantly in his hand like it was just another metal rugby trophy.

“Beer,” Dean confirmed simply, offering the futile remains of the bottle to Sebastian.

He knew Dean wouldn’t shout at him if he refused, or laugh at him or call him a baby. Dean was a kind boy, but that didn’t mean that Sebastian didn’t want to impress him nevertheless. He wanted the older boy to think that he was strong, that he was one of them, not just eight-year-old Sebastian Moran who cooked for himself and sometimes struggled to tie his own shoelaces. He reluctantly took the bottle, the glass around the exterior was still warm from where Dean’s hand had been pressed against it. Then without much thought he pressed it to his lips and proceeded to knock back the remainder of liquid with ease.

What followed was a series of hoarse spluttering and coughing. Sebastian’s grip loosened and he dropped the bottle almost immediately after finishing his mouthful, all whilst Dean had fallen into a fit of hysterics beside him. The glass fell to the floor with a subsequent blunt thud. The bottle rolled past Dean’s legs and across the kitchen floor, only stopping when it became caught amidst the tangle of chair legs underneath the table. The beer, or whatever alcohol had been present in the bottle, had left the back of Sebastian’s throat feeling as though it been scorched by a lighter. The alcohol, despite only being a small droplet, had burnt tremendously, and even as his coughing fit subsided Sebastian was still extremely-aware that his tongue felt as though it was on fire.

“What the fuck was that?!” Dean exclaimed breathlessly, clutching his hand to his abdomen where he had developed a painful stitch from laughing so much.

Sebastian wiped the remaining droplets of alcohol from his lips, his brow creasing shamefully until Dean eventually spoke again.

“That was brilliant!”

“It was?”

“I’ve never seen anybody react like that before… it was hilarious.”

Once the plates were cleaned up, Sebastian and his new guest retreated to the living room where they could watch television. Dean had offered his assistance when it came to the mountain of plates piling the sink, and the two of them had worked ambitiously to scrub every single plate and piece of cutlery with vigour, drowning each and every one in so much washing up liquid that by the end the washing up liquid bottle was empty and the sink was filled to the brim with soapy bubbles. They both took turns drying the dishes with a tattered, old rag Sebastian had found in one of the cupboards, before placing every single asset back into its rightful place so that the kitchen was spotless. The empty bottles had been discarded in the bin outside, some of which had shattered and earned Sebastian a shallow cut on his pinky finger, and once the scent of alcohol had been scrubbed from the house both Sebastian and Dean retired to the sofa to mindlessly watch whatever was on the television.

It was too late for cartoons, so after a slight dispute over the remote Sebastian had finally given in to the current match of snooker dominating the television screen. Dean appeared to be watching it with more enthusiasm than Sebastian, who was more interested in spying on the redhead out of the corner of his eye than the game itself. It was a miracle how Dean didn’t notice the subtle glance here and there from Sebastian, but he was too busy rambling on about the rules of snooker that he probably hadn’t even noticed. Not until Sebastian tapped him lightly on the shoulder that was.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Can I asked you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Are you nervous? Sebastian asked tentatively. “About big school, I mean?”

Dean fell oddly at the mention of school, sitting up a little straighter from where he had been slouched against the sofa. His stare remained firmly fixated on the television as he mulled the thought over, despite the programme having already finished and been replaced by a black screen. His hands rested either side of him, his right hand seemingly captivated by a piece of thread on the sofa which he had started to tug and pick at. His fingers toyed with the thread until it finally gave in and snapped, and after flicking it away dismissively Dean cleared his throat.

“I guess not.”

“But why? You leave St. Matthew’s after next year-"

“-I’m not going back to St. Matthew’s, Seb,” Dean interjected abruptly, prizing his attention away from the empty television box as he turned to Sebastian.

A new programme had started now, this time a much more tame one about farmers and their prize sheep, but Sebastian wasn’t paying attention. At first he had tried to smile at the older boy, however Dean hadn’t returned it, and Sebastian was left with a tight knot in his throat as he struggled to comprehend what exactly he had meant by his response.

“What d’you mean?

“I’ve been offered a scholarship… At a prep school down in Kilkenny. They specialise in rugby, they’ve offered to take me on for next year.”

“You’re moving away.”

Dean nodded feebly, his hands coming to rest awkwardly on-top of his lap since there were no more loose pieces of thread to pull.

“I was going to tell you all until what happened in the woods,” he explained. “My little sister is taking my old bedroom, I leave tomorrow morning. It means I can’t be part of the gang anymore.”

“But you can’t leave!” Sebastian protested suddenly, his voice catching in his throat as he cried, causing it to crackle pitifully. “You can’t leave otherwise it will only be me an’ Jim left.”

“I leave _tomorrow_ ,” Dean reiterated apologetically.

“Will you at least come back for the holidays?”

“I don’t know yet. Mam doesn’t want to stay in Dublin, besides my sister’s moving out with her boyfriend… I used to live in Kilkenny a few years ago, I’ve got more friends there.”

“But we’re your friends,” Sebastian sniffed helplessly.

He wanted to hug Dean, but perhaps hug was an understatement. He wanted to do anything in his power to stop the boy from leaving, whether that was convincing him that St. Matthew’s was far better than some snobby prep school, or wrapping his arms around his legs to physically act as a barrier to prevent him leaving. It meant that he’d no longer get to prove his worth to the redhead by joining the rugby team for himself, or tell Dean how he really felt about him.

“What about the rugby team?”

Dean shrugged.

“They’ll find another captain I’m sure of it,” he assured Sebastian simply. “Besides the coach picks different captains every year. Soon enough it’ll be you.”

“But I don’t want to be rugby captain by myself.”

“You’re talking out of your arse, Seb. You’ll be just fine.”

The conservation was virtually over by the time Dean finished attempting to reassure the boy. Sebastian had fallen into a despondent sulk at the other end of the sofa, slouched impolitely against the moth-eaten fabric as he stared at the blank wall in-front of him. The television was providing the only source of noise, flooding the otherwise silent-house with the sound of what appeared to be the bubbly host interviewing a farmer whose sheep had been eaten by wolves. Despite the unfortunate topic of the interview, there was something comforting about the noise, or perhaps it was just the feeling that they weren’t alone. Sebastian continued to glance at Dean on occasion, allowing his gaze to trail over the boy’s face, down from his tired eyes towards his slightly-chapped lips. Dean was staring at the television as though he was pretending to pay attention to it, but Sebastian had a feeling that if he was to quiz him on what was happening then it would become quickly clear that Dean hadn’t been listening at all. His eyes hadn’t moved for the past five minutes, nor had his hands which were rigidly cemented against his lap.

Sebastian looked away momentarily, staring down towards an oddly-shaped stain on the carpet as he tried to compose himself, before eventually looking back up to Dean once he had plucked up enough courage to open his mouth. Only this time Dean spotted him.

“I like you, Dean.”

Dean seemingly relaxed, removing his hands from his lap so that he could pivot round to properly face Sebastian. The smile on his face was lazy, as if he hadn’t fully understood the words, but regardless he found himself amused by them.

“And I like you too.”

“No, not…not like that.”

The smile on the redhead’s mouth wavered doubtfully.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, Seb? You’ve been talking a load of shit tonight-“

“I think I properly like you.”

Dean laughed, only for his laugh to abruptly falter upon spotting Sebastian’s grave expression. He swallowed thickly, raising a heavy eyebrow of concern towards the boy.

“You’re joking.”

Sebastian firmly shook his head.

“…Seb?”

Unable help himself any longer, Sebastian suddenly teetered forward, and out of the blue he pressed a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. He hovered long enough to taste the faint remains of alcohol staining the redhead’s lips, but Dean’s lips were nowhere near as soft as Sebastian had expected. His only experience of kissing came from Jim, but Jim’s lips had been so soft and babylike compared to the rugged texture of Dean’s. His lips were chapped in comparison, and carried the subtle hint of blood from where he had picked up the horrible habit of biting them. They tasted like the lips of an older boy, somebody nowhere near the same age as Sebastian. They weren’t innocent, and the longer he lingered the more Sebastian realised that Dean’s lips didn’t taste very nice at all. It wasn’t a pleasant encounter, the eight-year-old realised that almost immediately after latching on to the older boy, neither was the forceful shove that knocked Sebastian back across the sofa a few seconds later.

The blond found himself tumbling back against the sofa without any time to process what was happening, his head colliding against the armrest with a dishevelled grunt of pain. By the time he looked back up again, Dean was staring right back at him. His hand was pressed defensively against his lips, however he wasn’t smiling. Sebastian couldn’t quite make out what his expression was supposed to be, but nevertheless he didn’t look happy.

“You heard what Pip said in the woods, Sebastian,” Dean spoke solemnly after a few moments, his voice hoarse from where he was struggling to control his sheer bemusement and anger. “That queer stuff… it’s not good, for both you and me. Don’t let it get to your head.”

“But I thought you didn’t believe him-"

“-I think it’s time for me to go.”

Sebastian wanted to protest, but by the time Dean stood up a thick lump had already formed in his throat, making it impossible to get any words out. Each time he opened his mouth to speak his throat felt tight, as if his airways had seized up and were refusing to allow any sentences through, no matter how big or small. The only success he had was his final attempt at conversation, which resulted in nothing more than a pathetic croak, but by then Dean had already snatched for his hoodie and was halfway towards the door.

He stopped just as he reached the garden gate however, his hand toying with the metal handle before reluctantly he turned back to Sebastian, who was perched anxiously on the doorstep a few feet away. Dean slung his hoodie over his shoulder, opening his mouth as if to apologise, before eventually shaking his head and forcing open the gate.

“And don’t do that ever again, d’you understand me? Whatever you’re feeling, it’ll fade over time just… don’t speak to me after tonight. I don’t want to see you again, Sebastian.”

Sebastian couldn’t remember how longer he had been lying on the sofa for when the front-door opened, and the sound of his father’s heavy boots entered the hallway. He could hear the man’s movement pause momentarily while he fumbled around for a cigarette, before picking up once more after the successful flick of his lighter and the sudden smell of nicotine insinuated that he had found one. After returning from the pub his father followed the same routine each night. His first stop was always to the kitchen, where he would smoke his cigarette in peace and help himself to whatever alcoholic remains he hadn’t managed to polish off yet. Then once he had stubbed out his first cigarette he would help himself to another, only this time he would smoke it whilst in the comfort of his usual armchair in the living room, usually with some mind-numbingly dull television programme playing in the background.

Sebastian slowly sat up when he heard the approaching footsteps; his hands felt oddly clammy, and as he wriggled into a sitting position he was suddenly aware of the pain surrounding his eyes and cheeks. They felt constricted, sore, and when he cautiously reached a hand up to investigate Sebastian realised that they were covered in what appeared to be a streaky layer of tears. He couldn’t remember crying, but the tears must have fallen for quite some time due to the sheer rawness and puffiness of the skin around his cheeks. The last he could remember of the evening was collapsing down onto the sofa not-long after Dean had left, but the rest was a hazy blur. It was the sound of the front-door that had stirred him from his disconnected state, and as he crawled into a sitting position he found himself suddenly alarmingly aware of each and every one of his surroundings, from the incessant noise of the television in the corner to the tedious tick of the wall-clock which had just struck eleven.

The wall-clock didn’t fit in with the rest of the house’s decor. The family had inherited it only after the passing of Sebastian’s grandfather, who had left it in his will alongside a small sum of money when Sebastian was still a toddler. Since then, the clock had been displayed pride of place on the living room wall, whilst the inherited money had been spent fairly quickly on fixing the leaky pipes in the kitchen and paying back whoever Sebastian’s father owed money to. Sebastian had grown fairly accustomed to hearing the endless series of ticking whenever he came to watch television, a memory which went as far back as when he had been a small child playing with his toy trucks on the carpet.

The sound of the television initially caught the attention of Sebastian’s father, who paused instinctively in the doorway at the sight of the eight-year-old curled up on the sofa. As soon as he entered, the living room became shrouded in a thick cloud of grey smoke, and the man reluctantly clamped his cigarette between his teeth so that he could investigate the reasoning as to why Sebastian was hiding in the living room instead of being upstairs in his bedroom.

“It’s eleven o’ clock, kid, and you’re not even in your pyjamas yet. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

The older man’s voice didn’t carry the familiar, thick slur like it normally did, which meant that for once he couldn’t have been that drunk. Surprised by the revelation, Sebastian slowly raised his head from where it had been buried against his knees, only to realise that his father was dressed in a smart suit and tie. He never wore ties, not unless he was visiting the job centre.

The older man surveyed his son momentarily, however his irritation quickly ebbed away when he noticed the tear-stains marking Sebastian’s cheeks. After stubbing out his cigarette he tentatively approached, sitting down besides the boy and beckoning for him to sit up straight. Sebastian did so obediently, wiping his slightly-snotty nose against the sleeve of his hoodie as he faced his father. It wasn’t often that they sat together anymore, not unless it was in the headmaster’s office at school, receiving another lecture about how Sebastian’s violent temper had resulted in yet another fight with one of the other boys.

His father smiled feebly, resting a hand upon the eight-year-old’s shoulder.

“Want to tell me what’s up?”

Sebastian stubbornly shook his head.

“Did a girl break your heart?”

He shook his head again.

“Alright, champ,” the older man sighed tiredly, resting his hands either side of him so that he could ease himself back up onto his feet, until Sebastian unexpectedly outstretched a hand to stop him.  
  
“Why are you wearing that?”

His father froze mid-stand, realising that Sebastian was gesturing towards his tie, and he broke into a bemused smile.

“What, this?” He asked thoughtfully, outstretching the neck of the tie so that Sebastian could feel the fabric. “It’s my special outfit. Do you like it?”

“What’s it for?”

“Well…” The older man hesitated uncertainly, toying with the question before eventually replacing his hesitance with a feeble smile. “I met some friends tonight… They’ve offered me a new job.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed.

“Like your old job in the factory?”

“Not quite. This is a different type of job, it means that from now on we’ll be able to afford nicer things.”

His father’s answer caused Sebastian to smile weakly, and even he couldn’t deny that he was excited at the prospect of his father going back to work again. Even if his father wouldn’t tell him where he was working, it sounded like an important job, the thought of which filled the eight-year-old with relief. If his father started earning more money then perhaps they’d be able to live in a house as nice as Jim’s, or maybe it would be enough to convince his mother to come back and live with them. They could be a proper family again, living in a nice house without having to rely on canned food to get them through the week.

It was Sebastian’s father who carried him up to bed that evening, with Sebastian slung carefully over his shoulder as he tried not to bash his head against any doorframes or walls. The blond had been hard to convince that it was time for bed, especially since his head was swimming with visions of swimming pools and private yachts. Ultimately he didn’t change into his pyjamas until midnight, when the usual noisy night rabble had picked up across Dublin following pub closing time. The drunken stupor could be heard outside on the street as Sebastian’s father turned off his bedside light, plunging the entirety of the bedroom into darkness, aside from the small trickle of light seeping in from the hallway outside. He tucked Sebastian into bed, something he hadn’t done for many months, before lingering precariously in the threshold of the bedroom door.

“You know you can tell me if something’s bothering you, right Sebastian?… Anything at all. I know I haven’t been the best dad but I promise I’m going to make it up to you, you just have to talk to me.”

Despite being curled up underneath his bedcovers, Sebastian had heard every word of his father’s explanation. The old man’s voice sounded tired, not to mention strained from where he had evidently never tried anything like this before. Speeches weren’t the man’s strongpoint, and neither was talking to his son, which was why the sudden declaration had left Sebastian wondering whether or not it was truly his father or just an intruder. In the darkness he could just about make out the shape of the man’s silhouette stood hopefully in the doorway, however instead of responding he simply closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Too much had happened for him to think of a coherent reply; he was still furious at Pip, but most of all frustrated with what had happened between him and Dean after leaving the woods. The kiss, and most of all how Dean was leaving, with the final instruction that Sebastian should never speak to him ever again. Jim deserved to know what had happened, but Sebastian decided against telling him when they next saw each-other. The last thing he needed was for Jim to be even more angry at him than he already was. And knowing Jim, he’d never forgive Sebastian for kissing Dean behind his back. Even if it had ended terribly.

His disguise must have worked, as soon enough a low creak sounded from the door handle, and his father’s footsteps paced defeatedly back out into the hallway once more.

“Try and get some sleep, kid. You’ve got school tomorrow.”


	11. Jim's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim celebrates his eighth birthday, but something is bothering him.

Jim Moriarty celebrated his eighth birthday on a Monday in the middle of October.

The day in question had been unusually cold for that time of year, and at lunchtime Jim and Sebastian found themselves huddled underneath the bike shelter at school, wrapped in their winter coats and hidden away from the prying eyes of Miss Trevors who was on lunchtime duty that day. It wasn’t raining, but throughout the duration of the morning the clouds had gradually darkened in colour, and by the time Sebastian collected his coat from the cloak-room an ominous layer of thick fog had already settled over the sleepy playground. It wasn’t ideal weather for a birthday celebration, but according to Jim he was rather delighted with how the day had panned out. That morning in maths he had scored full marks in the test his class were given, as well as been praised by his science teacher for his vast knowledge of hydrocarbons, despite the fact that the topic wasn’t normally taught until third year, and stretched far beyond what his class were supposed to be learning about regarding simple states of matter. Even Sebastian had gotten Jim a small present, after scraping together a few pound coins he had been saving up in order to pay for it. After tearing away the clumsily-wrapped parcel paper the raven-haired boy was presented with a small copy of ‘ _100 Fantastic Facts About Science_ ’, enclosed in a gleaming red cover with golden lettering printed boldly across the spine. The book was originally aimed at grown-ups, and whilst skimming through the first page alone Sebastian had found himself completely overwhelmed with the bombardment of information. However the blond had a feeling that Jim would breeze through it easily like he did with most other things, especially considering how much he loved to be challenged.

“Where did you find it?” Jim asked out of curiosity, flipping through the first few pages of the book whilst Miss Trevors barked at two boys nearby for attempting to climb over the school fence.

Sebastian, who was midway through taking a bite from the sandwich in his lunchbox, immediately smiled in triumph at the question.

“The bookshop in town,” he revealed with an air of pride, swallowing his mouthful of bread and wiping his lips with the sleeve of his blazer. “The lady on the till said it would be too complicated for me to understand, I told her it was for a friend.”

From his own lunchbox, Jim had produced two small slices of cake, both delicately wrapped in tissue to prevent them from getting spoiled. He had asked Kirstie for an extra slice of cake that morning before leaving for school, and when she asked why he simply explained that he wanted to share a slice with Sebastian too. The flavour of the cake was chocolate; Jim had requested it specially, and in order to make his day extra special Kirstie had taken on the mighty task of baking it herself. Admittedly her baking wasn’t as good as her gardening, but regardless of the fact that the frosting was sloppy and practically oozing from all sides, her efforts were still greatly appreciated. Apparently Kirstie had forgotten to place the cake in the fridge overnight in anticipation of the big day, hence why the chocolate had almost completely all melted. But the mess didn’t phase Jim who had already taken a carefully-constructed bite from the larger of the two slices.

Cake wasn’t allowed in school, which was why they were hidden behind the bike sheds attempting to eat it in secret. If Miss Trevors or any of the other patrolling teachers caught them then they would undoubtably be subjected to a long lecture as to why such foods were prohibited on school grounds. Jim had heard it all before, after being caught with a packet of liquorice sweets in his trouser pocket at the start of the previous term. The sweets had been confiscated until Jim struck up so much of a tantrum that the deputy head was forced to return them, not without a disgraced telephone call home to his foster parents that same afternoon to explain how sweets weren’t an acceptable lunch for a seven-year-old. The story had been relayed to Sebastian the following day at their gang meeting, and had been met with the blond’s utmost approval, mainly because he despised the snobbish deputy head and the idea of Jim screaming at him amused him greatly.

Gang meetings were a lot quieter nowadays.

There hadn’t been any news of Dean ever since his transfer to the prep school in Kilkenny. In a way Sebastian was almost glad that the older boy was no longer around; Dean had made it very clear that he didn’t want to speak to him again after their last encounter, and it meant that Sebastian didn’t have to be constantly reminded of what had happened. Pip was still unfortunately there, louder and more obnoxious than ever. Although he hadn’t dared to set foot in the woods since his banishment, Sebastian still saw him on occasion, usually sat outside of the school gates on his bike, hurling spit at the passersby with encouragement from his newfound friends. They never greeted each-other anymore; Sebastian had only ever made eye contact with Pip once, resulting in the older boy threatening to follow him home and break both of his arms. Pip had been suspended a whopping six times now, and apparently there were even talks of expelling the unruly twelve-year-old permanently. When Jim learnt of the news, his response was to simply roll his eyes and state grumpily: ‘ _it’s about time_.’

Most weekends were spent balanced between the woods and Jim’s bedroom. With his father constantly out of the house working, Sebastian visits to Jim’s home had increased enormously since the start of the school term back in September. It wasn’t often that he invited Jim to his own house, mostly because he was embarrassed of how cluttered the place was, but whenever he arrived home with Jim after school he was nearly-always greeted with a warm welcome from both of Jim’s foster parents. Kirstie in particular had taken fondly to the taller boy; each time he entered through the front-door he would be greeted by a pleased smile and a plate of whatever was being served for dinner that evening, sometimes even with the offer of seconds if he was extra hungry.

The day of Jim’s birthday was no different; Kirstie was taking them to the cinema that evening after school, with the promise that afterwards Sebastian would be welcome to stay for a sleepover. Sebastian had never partaken in a sleepover round anybody’s house before, so he was a little unsure what to expect. A part of him was nervous - he worried that he might not be able to find the toilet during the middle of the night, or that he might not like the food he was given for breakfast, but after a short conversation between his father and Jim’s foster mother Kirstie gently assured him that if he wanted to go home at any point then she’d be more than happy to telephone his father.

“How does it feel to finally be eight?” Sebastian asked out of curiosity, cramming the last portion of cake forcefully into his mouth.

Jim was taking longer than Sebastian to finish his own piece of cake. He was carefully dissecting his slice bit by bit, scooping tiny segments of frosting onto the tip of his finger before carefully licking them off using his tongue. Jim had barely touched the sponge part of his cake, either because he didn’t like sponge or because he was attempting to preserve it somehow. But judging by how the raven-haired boy was treating even the tiniest flake of frosting like it was a prized artefact, it must have been the latter.

“I dunno,” Jim admitted truthfully in answer to Sebastian’s question, wrapping the remainder of his cake up into the tissue before placing it back into his lunchbox. He hadn’t touched his sandwich, nor the apple which sat unscathed beside it.

Sebastian could only assume that he was going to take the time to finish it off later, otherwise he would have happily offered to eat Jim’s leftover cake for him instead. For a rushed effort it had tased surprisingly good, even if the sloppy presentation left much to be desired. Kirstie clearly cared, from her nurturing smiles to the time she took to bake Jim a cake for his birthday. It was strange, considering Kirstie wasn’t really the smaller boy’s mother, but she acted enough like a mother that sometimes it was hard to distinguish between the two. But more importantly Jim clearly liked her, made obvious by the way he would sit on her lap while she detailed complex mathematical theorems to him, and how he trusted her enough to allow her to help tie his shoelaces and comb his hair before school. Tying Jim’s shoelaces was normally a job reserved for Kirstie, but on occasion Jim would request for Sebastian instead if the older woman wasn’t around. Each time he tried to be as careful as humanly possible, folding the raven-haired boy’s laces delicately into equal length bows, and making sure that they looked perfect before tying the final knot. And if he did a good enough job, Jim would sometimes reward him with a brief kiss on the cheek.

“…I don’t know if I want to be eight anymore.”

“But it hasn’t even been a full day yet… I thought you said you were looking forward to growing up?”

“That’s ‘cos I was but… it’s just people stop caring about you when you get older. People only like you when you’re small and cute, before you get all spotty.”

“Who told you that?”

“I overheard Kirstie talking on the telephone,” Jim explained tentatively, his gaze fixating on his shoelaces as he spoke. “To my social worker. She phoned me this morning to wish me happy birthday, then asked to speak to Kirstie alone. I pretended that I was brushing my teeth but really I was listening by the door… I overheard everything.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed uncertainly, confused as to why Jim was telling him so much information.  
  
“And?” He persisted.

“And they were talking about me,” the boy continued. “About how it’s bad that I’m getting older. I heard Kirstie talking about how soon I’ll have to start looking for new families before I get too old. But I already have a family, I don’t want another one.”

A small lump had formed at the back of Sebastian’s throat, and he swallowed it uneasily as the thought of chocolate cake suddenly lost its appeal entirely. A new family. Jim was still staring mindlessly at the gravel on the playground floor, so whatever it meant it must not have been good news. The bell jingled somewhere in the distance to signal the end of lunch, and reluctantly Sebastian eased himself up onto his feet, just as the first few specs of rain splashed against the fabric of his coat. He outstretched a hand to Jim, who gladly took it and proceeded to drag himself up off from the ground too. Miss Trevors was shouting instructions in the near-distance, closely accompanied by her librarian friend, who Sebastian spotted almost instantly as they reemerged from behind the bike shed.

“Boys, I wondered where you two were. Come on, back to class.” Miss Trevors greeted them both with a cheery smile, especially Sebastian who returned it politely. Jim merely scowled.

Miss Trevors had returned after the summer holidays with dyed brown hair instead of her usual excessive blonde highlights, and a brand-new silver ring on her index finger which Jim identified as being from the expensive jewellery shop in town. Since the start of the new term she appeared to be happier than ever, and frequently seen in the company of the librarian, who went by the name of Miss Davidson. Sebastian didn’t know much about Miss Davidson, apart from she had replaced the old librarian a few years ago after she had suffered a stroke whilst restocking the shelves and been found dead on the floor by one of the upper-school prefects.

Jim was still clinging tightly to his hand, which Sebastian only realised when he saw that the librarian was staring directly at them. He let go of Jim’s hand almost immediately afterwards, making sure to shoot the woman a glare of disapproval when Miss Trevors wasn’t looking to warn her to back off. The librarian hastily tore her gaze away from the boys’ interlocked hands, explaining in a flustered voice that she needed to refill her coffee flask before subsequently disappearing off in the opposite direction towards the staff room. Miss Trevors had already become occupied helping another student, leaving Sebastian and Jim to slip off undetected back to their own classrooms, with Sebastian’s hands now firmly cemented in his own blazer pockets as not to draw anymore attention to themselves.

Since Sebastian was in the year above, his class was upstairs along with the rest of the older students, leaving Jim stood sulkily at the bottom of the stairwell as the other boys all flooded past him. The hallways were always especially hectic after lunch, meaning that Jim was forced to battle against the onslaught of shoulder-barges and shoves as he struggled to maintain his balance. Fearing that his smaller counterpart might accidentally get swept along with the rest of the crowd, Sebastian instinctively outstretched a hand to rein Jim back in, keeping a firm grip of the boy’s blazer to try and anchor him down. His efforts appeared to work, and for a few moments Jim was able to escape the rabble of the hallway as he joined Sebastian on the staircase, peering down at the flow of new students passing below them.

“Can’t I come to your class?” He persisted, spotting his class lined up across the hallway and frowning immediately in discontent.

“I don’t think you’d like the boys in my class,” Sebastian explained.

“I like you,” Jim corrected him sternly. “That’s good enough. I can sit next to you, I promise I won’t make a noise.”

“But what about the friends in your class?”

The glare from Jim was enough indication that Sebastian should have kept quiet, and he quickly averted his gaze down to where the final few boys were trickling in through the doors, flanked closely in-tow by Miss Trevors. He turned to Jim, who was still staring at him hopefully, before offering the boy an apologetic smile in return.

“I’ll wait outside your classroom after school,” he offered sheepishly, in hopes that it might help cheer Jim up and help him to forget about the classroom situation. “Are we still going to the cinema?”

“Mm-hm, and we’re allowed popcorn to share as long as it isn’t too expensive.”

Jim seemed to have perked up dramatically at the talk of the cinema, which was more than enough to ease Sebastian’s conscience. He nodded obediently, unable to suppress his grin at the promise of sweetened popcorn, however his excitement was only short-lived when he spotted the brunette teacher waiting expectantly for him at the top of the staircase. They had been stood chatting for too long.

“I’ll come as quickly as possible. Promise.”

Sebastian’s last lesson of the day was English, a lesson which he particularly excelled in. At the start of the new term, each boy in his class had been asked to read out the essay they had written over the holidays; Sebastian wasn’t the type of person who enjoyed reading his work out loud in-front of the whole class, but with some gentle encouragement from Miss Trevors he had done so anyway, eagerly informing his surrounding classmates of his trip to London over Summer. He was immensely proud of his work, especially the three pages he had dedicated to the Tower of London, which afterwards Miss Trevors expressed she was highly-impressed with too.

_‘My friend Jim’s favourite place was the Jewel House, but we weren’t allowed to touch the jewels because they were kept behind a gigantic glass box. Jim is very clever. He told me about a man who tried to steal the jewels a long time ago, and he knows about all of the people who died in the tower. I think it might be haunted, but we didn’t see any ghosts so maybe they only come out at night.’_

Today, alike any other Monday, they had all been instructed to read their books in silence while Miss Trevors marked their homework from the previous week. Sebastian usually prided himself when it came to silent reading, however that day he found himself unable to concentrate. He was abnormally restless, flipping aimlessly through the pages of his book as he struggled to process even the simplest of words. It wasn’t as though it was a difficult book; for that lesson Sebastian had brought in Swallows and Amazons by Arthur Ransome, one of his favourite books, and one which he had already read numerous times in the past. But no matter how many times he tried to read a page, the information rarely stuck, and as the afternoon progressed he found himself becoming increasingly distracted by the sounds of Jim’s class participating in PE outside on the playing field. A few times his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he attempted to sneak a peek out of the window, only for Miss Trevors to sternly clear her throat and instruct Sebastian to sit back down. By the looks of it, Jim was playing rugby, or at least the rest of his class were. The raven-haired-boy appeared to be sat on the grass instead of actually playing the game with his peers, picking at a few stray dandelions that had emerged across the field with his new birthday present balanced carefully on his lap. Sebastian would have stayed to watch for longer, however after being caught peering out of the window for a third time he was warned that if he did it again then the whole class would be forced to stay behind for an extra five minutes at the end of the day.

Thankfully, when the bell rung for the end of the day Sebastian’s class were allowed to collect their coats and bags and file out immediately without any punishment. The blond had been in the midst of tugging on his coat and doing the same as his fellow classmates before halfway to the door he was gently pulled aside, and ushered towards the teacher’s desk instead.

“Miss, I really need to go. It’s urgent.”

“This will only take five minutes, I promise.”

Sebastian attempted to stand, his posture rigid and his chest puffed out like a soldier, however the teacher beckoned for him to sit, and reluctantly he took a seat on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs opposite from her. He sometimes stayed behind at the end of the day to help clean the classroom and pack away the equipment, and he was well-aware that Miss Trevors usually stayed until around five each evening so that she could get some extra marking done. But as he sat awkwardly opposing the woman, Sebastian noticed that on that occasion she was wearing her coat, which must have meant that she was planning on leaving.

The teacher smiled, the same, kind smile she offered to each of the students under her supervision.

“I just wanted to say well done,” she explained finally once the last of the other boys had left the classroom.

Sebastian pulled a face, his brow furrowing at once.

“But I haven’t done anything.”

“Yes well, that’s what I’m congratulating you about,” Miss Trevors assured him brightly, causing the blond’s frown to quickly dissolve in confusion. “…You’ve gone a whole term without getting into a single fight. This is really wonderful, Sebastian, in-fact I was so pleased that I called your father today to tell him the good news.”

“Did he answer?” Sebastian blurted out before he could help himself, his heart leaping at the mention of the man.

Surprised by the suddenness of the question, Miss Trevors was initially startled, before finally she uttered a faint laugh. Her eyes creased along with her mouth as she laughed, which Sebastian took to mean that it was genuine, and after composing herself the woman carefully tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ears, exposing the studded earrings she was wearing. Alike the ring, they also appeared to be brand new.

“He did,” she confirmed pleasantly. “…He couldn’t stay on the phone for long because he was working, but he assured me he was very proud.”

Then for a few moments, she hesitated.

“…It’s good to hear that your father’s back at work, Sebastian. How are things at home now?”

During the time the brunette was silent, Sebastian picked up on how the corners of her lips were beginning to twitch. It was no longer due to her smile, but instead it was as if there was something on the tip of her tongue, something she was desperate to say aloud but couldn’t quite find the strength to. When she eventually opened her mouth to speak Sebastian should have expected what came to follow, but still he felt his face redden uncontrollably, and he turned his attention towards the array of stationery lined up neatly on her desktop. He didn’t like people prying, especially not when it was about family matters, but he trusted Miss Trevors enough to tell her half of the truth.

“Things are okay,” The blond shrugged mindlessly, deciding against telling her about Jim. “We’re happy now, me and my dad, we don’t need any help.”

“I’m glad to hear that, really I am,” Miss Trevors hummed distractedly, something outside having caught her eye midway through their conversation. “Now I should probably let you go, your friend is waiting outside.”

Sebastian turned to see who Miss Trevors was referring to, only to be greeted with Jim, who was hovering impatiently outside of the door trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening inside. The entirety of his pale face was pressed ungracefully against the window of the classroom, especially his eyes which were wide with anticipation as he observed the two figures. At the realisation he had been spotted however Jim quickly retracted himself from the window pane, choosing to disguise himself behind one of the corridor walls. It would have been the perfect hiding spot if one of his shoes wasn’t poking out visibly from behind the wall, or if the classroom window wasn’t been stained with the remnants of where his grubby face had been pressed against it.

“You took forever,” the raven-haired boy complained as Sebastian stepped out of the classroom to meet him, reappearing from behind the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

Sebastian had already started walking, his backpack slung over one shoulder, and Jim hastily scrambled after him to try and catch up. Like on the field, he was accompanied by his new birthday present, which was clutched protectively in his left hand for safekeeping, and already Sebastian could see where Jim had folded over the corners of multiple different pages - most likely for future research. As Jim walked there was a noticeable spring in his step, and Sebastian became fearful that if he didn’t slow down then he might accidentally lose his footing and tumble down the staircase. But at least he was in a good mood.

“Why did you get kept behind?”

Sebastian was tempted to tell Jim the truth about the accomplishment, yet a part of him couldn’t bring himself to. There was no point in boasting about his triumphs when it was Jim’s birthday; the clue was in the name, it was _Jim’s_ special day, not his, and Sebastian planned to keep it that way. He’d have to wait until later to tell the smaller boy about Miss Trevors’ words of praise, otherwise he was sure that it would be enough to ruin the day completely.

“It was nothing,” he lied dismissively, accompanying Jim out onto the playground, where the final few parents were dotted around waiting to collect their children. “She just wanted to talk to me about the Summer holidays essay I wrote.”

“But you did that ages ago.”

“I know… she forgot to hand it back to me, that’s all.”

“Liar!”

“Am not!”

“It’s obvious when you lie, your ears go all red.”

The car Kirstie drove was red, making it impossible to miss compared to the other dull, grey vehicles lining the road. Kirstie herself was hardly the epitome of glamour, adorned in a plain knitted cardigan with her hair tied back in a bun, a wide smile spread across her rosy cheeks as the two boys trekked across the playground to greet her. She wound down the front window as both Sebastian and Jim approached, poking her head out through the gap to address them. By the looks of it she had just returned from a university lecture; her flower-patterned workbag was propped against the passenger seat, crammed with all sorts all textbooks and papers that were spilling out from all sides. Despite her evidently-busy afternoon however the women didn’t appear to be tired, in-fact quite the opposite.

“The birthday boy gets to choose what music we listen to,” she explained as soon as they were in earshot, ushering the two boys immediately into the backseat.

Jim was the first to clamber into the back of the little red car, followed swiftly by Sebastian whose heavy backpack made him considerably slower compared to his elegant counterpart. Once they were both inside and the door was closed, Jim wasted no time in choosing what music he wanted to listen to, leaning forward and fumbling around with the cassette deck stationed beside the steering wheel at the front. Kirstie advised that playing music would help the long trip to the town centre feel shorter than it actually was, and relieve any sense of boredom either of them may be feeling, although the last part was clearly directed towards Jim. The collection of cassettes may not have been extensive, but Jim soon found the one he was looking for.

Soon enough their drive was accompanied by the synthetic beat of Tears for Fears - ‘ _Everybody Wants to Rule The World_ ’ by the sound of it. Jim’s foot was tapping repeatedly against the floor of the car, receiving the occasional glance from Kirstie and Sebastian who both struggled to suppress their amusement at the sight. Even Sebastian found his head nodding subconsciously along to the rhythm, despite pop songs from the radio not being his usual go-to genre of music. He wasn’t sure what music he enjoyed; his father wasn’t a very musical man, and on the odd occasion where he did play music it was often the same mellow rock songs he almost always played from when he himself had been a teenager. The living room was stacked with different records, from Elvis Presley to Iggy Pop, yet most of them hadn’t been touched in a very long time.

_‘All for freedom and for pleasure_

_Nothing ever lasts forever_

_Everybody wants to rule the world…’_

They arrived in town with just under an hour to spare, enough time to find a parking space and to choose what film they wanted to see. There were two films running at the same time; Jim declared that since it was his birthday he wanted to watch whatever film they chose without any adult supervision, and upon realising that her presence would only cause Jim to feel embarrassed the older woman promised that she’d wait outside until it was finished. The raven-haired boy was satisfied with this response, and as he marched his way into the foyer he quickly became captivated by one of the posters displayed on the wall. Already it was apparent that it was a sci-fi film; spacemen and aliens weren’t exactly what Sebastian would have chosen if he had the final decision, then again if it meant that Jim was happy then he was just as happy to comply with the request. He’d always found it odd how a boy as clever as Jim, who studied chemical processes for fun, was somehow still fascinated by the concept of men in spacesuits saving the world from extraterrestrials, who half of the time didn’t even look believable.

Kirstie was in charge of buying the tickets, and with strict instructions that they were to ‘behave themselves’ the two boys were finally allowed to troop off by themselves into the darkened cinema screen, where to Sebastian’s surprise it was already filled to the brim with other film-goers. Theoretically he shouldn’t have been so taken aback, Jim had spent so long deciding on what flavour of popcorn he wanted that they had almost missed the start of the film, making it just in the nick of time before the main feature had even started rolling. As a result Sebastian was in charge of carrying the tub, holding it carefully with both hands to prevent it from toppling over, all whilst attempting to follow after Jim as he powered off ahead to try and locate their seats.

He manoeuvred his way through the maze of chairs, almost tripping over a few steps along the way until thankfully Jim managed to find them somewhere to sit before a genuine accident occurred. The smaller boy naturally got first pick of where he wanted to sit, and after a small squabble over who got to sit closest to the screen, resulting in the elderly couple in-front shaking their heads disapprovingly, Sebastian accepted that he would have to take the seat with fizzy drink stains covering the exterior. As he sat down, he became uncomfortably unaware that the residue was beginning to stick to the fabric of his trousers, but before he had time to complain to Jim the film titles were already rolling and a general hush had fallen across the expectant room.

Despite the film being his idea, before they had even reached the halfway point it became apparent that Jim was starting to grow restless. Alike in the car, he had started to tap his feet against the floor, only this time the series of repetitive taps were starting to annoy the people surrounding the eight-year-old, and within five minutes Jim was already being directed with dirty glares and loathsome tuts. They had barely managed to last an hour before the elderly man in-front had swivelled round in his seat to scold them, all because Jim had moved on from foot-tapping, and had enlisted Sebastian to help him launch popcorn at the woman in-front’s large perm. Sebastian, who had been mindlessly staring at the screen without a clue of what was happening, was more than happy to comply, simply because it served as a much-needed distraction. But as expected, the sudden hurtling of toffee popcorn not only caught the attention of the woman with the perm, but also her husband, who was practically quivering with anger as he turned round to face the two boys.

“Young men if you don’t stop pestering my wife then I’m afraid you’ll have to leave,” He hissed furiously, keeping his voice low as if to try and steady it.

The elderly man looked between both Jim and Sebastian, his brow furrowing quizzically at the revelation of just how young the culprits appeared to be. He had been expecting to come face-to-face with a mob of teenagers, not two children who looked like they didn’t know any better. His gaze hovered momentarily upon the pair’s school uniforms, as if to try and decipher where they were from, and at the realisation that they came from St. Matthew’s his confusion appeared to ebb away instantly. Everybody knew about St. Matthew’s, or at least the reputation that the school had for producing delinquents. But instead of confusion, his face quickly flooded with anger, anger which was directed primarily towards Jim who had been on the verge of throwing another piece of popcorn; if they were merely a pair of clueless schoolboys then perhaps he’d have been willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, but there was nothing clueless about the way the raven-haired boy was staring back at him, his eyes filled with malice for having spoiled their fun.

“Where’s your mother?”

“We don’t have the same mam, we’re not brothers,” Jim spoke abruptly, almost offended by the suggestion that he and Sebastian might be somehow related. Not that Sebastian particularly understood why.

The older man’s face reddened immediately, clearly embarrassed by Jim’s sudden outburst, and he narrowed his gaze towards the seemingly-more boisterous boy. He must have been the more confrontational one out of the two, compared to Sebastian who looked as though he wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground.

“Well then where are your parents?” He corrected himself irritatedly.

“I dunno.”

“Are they out in the foyer?”

“I don’t have any.”

Jim’s statement was met by a mere scoff of disbelief from the man, who turned back around in his seat to continue watching the remainder of the film. Sebastian didn’t understand what was so comical about Jim’s reply, especially when he had only been telling the truth, but it was enough to make him suddenly feel uneasy. He didn’t like the way that the man had been staring at their uniforms, almost as if he was making a judgement about them based on the crests sewn onto their green blazers, and tentatively he leant forward to tap Jim on the shoulder.

“Can we go now? People are staring.”

Jim was the first to storm out from the screen, followed by Sebastian, who made the point of kicking the half-empty tub popcorn over on his way out solely to cause a scene. He could feel the hot stares on the back of his neck as descended down the aisle of steps, and unlike Jim the blond’s walk resembled more of a walk of shame than a march of triumph. The chase-sequence on the screen wasn’t enough to disguise the series of hushed muttering that accompanied their departure, and Sebastian was more than relieved when the door slammed shut behind them and they were finally rid of the judgemental murmurs.

Since Kirstie wasn’t there to greet them as they returned to the foyer, their first stop was to the toilet so that Jim had an opportunity to wash his hands.

“She’s probably in the ladies’ toilet,” Jim decided, clearly agitated by the melted remains of toffee staining the tips of his fingers. He flexed his hand back and forth in discomfort while waiting for the water to warm up, and once it was a reasonable temperature he hastily stuck his hands under the running sink-tap to clean them.

Sebastian stood beside Jim in the empty row of cubicles, his back pressed against the wall so that he could raise the alert if anybody entered. He looked down to his own fingers which were equally just as sticky, and without thinking he raised his hand to his mouth to attempt to lick them clean, only for Jim to catch sight of what he was doing in the mirror and immediately pull a face.

“That’s disgusting.”

“It’s not that bad, besides you do it all the time,” Sebastian defended himself, his voice partially muffled from where he was attempting to lick away any remaining sugary residue. He only stopped upon noticing Jim’s disapproval, and reluctantly he lowered his hands and came to join Jim by the neighbouring sink.

Jim’s hand washing was taking an abnormally long time that evening, accompanied by the unusual amount of soap he was using. Even as Sebastian washed his hands in unison, he noticed that Jim had been scrubbing his skin with soap for the past five minutes, to the point where his palms and the backs of his hands had begun to grow sore from how vigorous he was being. When he eventually placed the bar of soap down, Sebastian hoped that it meant he was finished with the water, but nevertheless Jim continued to hold his hands underneath the running taps, staring directly at his peeling skin as if he was waiting for something to happen.

“You’re acting different today,” Sebastian commented, shutting off his own tap and grabbing a fistful of paper towels so that he could dry his hands.

“Why’d you say that?”

“You’ve been washing your hands for almost ten minutes now. They look painful.”

As much as he didn’t want to stop, Jim reluctantly turned off the taps, listening to the plughole emit a final, pitiful gurgle as it drained the remainder of water from the basin.

“They’re fine,” he sniffed scornfully, stealing a stray paper towel from the side and wrapping his hands carefully up inside of it, before taking a step back away from the row of sinks. The cuffs of his blazer were sopping wet now from the excessive amount of water, and Jim unwillingly slipped off his jacket before tying the sleeves around his waist.

“…And you weren’t paying attention to the film,” Sebastian added warily, concerned that Jim wasn’t listening to what he had to say. “You love space, you’re always telling me about different types of asteroids and stars.”

“Well it was a boring film,” Jim shrugged simply, falling immediately silent as the door opened and a young man walked inside, heading straight towards one of the cubicles and bolting the lock behind him.

He waited for the man to finish his business and depart, rather horrified when he didn’t wash his hands before leaving, before turning his attention back towards Sebastian impatiently. Sebastian was giving him the same look as he always did; Jim had a name for it now, the ‘worried parent’ expression. It almost-always involved Sebastian staring at him concernedly, and nibbling on his bottom lip whenever he was on the verge of saying something. Only this time Jim was able to pick-up on the expression quickly enough to beat him at his own game and speak before the taller boy even had a chance to open his mouth.

“I don’t want to grow up,” the newly-eight-year-old revealed flatly, his face crumpling as he removed the paper towels from his hands and disposed of them on the floor.

“Is this about what Kirstie said?”

“Brian too,” Jim corrected him. “They’re both acting funny, I don’t like it. They acted the same way the night before Malcolm got sent away to the young offender’s institution.”

Sebastian remembered Jim briefly mentioning Malcolm the day of his initiation ceremony - the boy he used to live with who had once kicked a hole in the garden fence. The blond frowned immediately at the odd reference, unsure as to why Jim was mentioning all of this now.

“But they aren’t sending you away to an institution.”

“How am I supposed to know? For all I know they could be sendin’ me away to a new family. Maybe they’re keeping it a secret ‘cos they know I won’t like it.”

As soon as the words escaped Jim’s lips, Sebastian felt the same feeling of uneasiness knot at his stomach, and he scratched the back of his head anxiously with his hand.

“You said it again.”

“Said what?”

“New family.”

Jim shrugged off the words, despite the fact that they were clearly bothering him. The door opened again, only this time a stream of men of all different ages entered, including the elderly man from the film screening. A million questions were still burning through Sebastian’s head, the majority wanting to know what exactly Jim meant by a ‘new family’, but the stalls were beginning to fill up and both he and James were starting to get in peoples’ ways. It seemed that Jim was keen to steer the topic away from the talk of families, and he marched alongside Sebastian back out into the crowded foyer, where this time Kirstie could be spotted waiting for them on one of the little benches lining the wall.

At the sight of the two boys approaching she instantly offered a warm smile, only neither Jim or Sebastian returned it.

“Good film, boys?” She asked hopefully, getting up from her perch and lifting the strap of her flowery workbag over her shoulder.

By the looks of it she must have been marking university work whilst waiting for the film to finish. Sebastian couldn’t help but think that it must be an awfully dull job being a university professor, not only the aspect of delivering lectures but having to mark students’ work. He still didn’t know much about university, or whether he wanted to go, but it was a conversation that he and Jim had shared many times in the past. Unsurprisingly, Jim had already made up his mind that he was going to attend university in England, not Ireland, and when Sebastian asked why he simply refused to give a reasonable explanation. ‘ _Oxford University_ ’ Jim had expressed eagerly through a mouthful of fizzy cola bottles, ‘ _it’s supposed to be the best for mathematics_.’

Kirstie surveyed both boys as she stood, aware that something must have happened without her knowledge. She didn’t notice the disapproving glares from the people walking past, or the cleaner who had been instructed to tidy up the mess created in the cinema screen, and in that moment Sebastian was rather grateful for the poor woman’s naivety.

“It was rubbish,” Jim stated simply, taking the old woman completely by surprise.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Sebastian added gingerly at the end, feeling a little bad considering that Kirstie had been the one to pay for both of their tickets and buy them food.

The sky was still shrouded with grey clouds as they made their way back out into the town centre, accompanied by a few odd specs of rain which dotted haphazardly across the pavement around them. Kirstie led the way back to the car, fumbling around helplessly for an umbrella as she did so, whilst Sebastian and Jim lingered behind to admire the falling rain. Jim had his hand wrapped around Sebastian’s once more, and was using the taller boy to protect himself from the sea of people surrounding the town centre so that he wouldn’t accidentally get crushed. In return, the blond had a firm hold of Jim’s hand, clasping tightly to his soft skin as if he was scared that somebody might try to steal Jim away from him. He couldn’t help the fear that each approaching stranger was simply another person waiting to whisk Jim away, and that if he looked away for even a second then Jim might be gone by the time he looked back. The raven-haired boy’s words had unsettled him, which was practically unheard of. Jim could inform him that the world was ending tomorrow and he’d simply respond by laughing and telling him how stupid that was, but the suggestion that Jim might be leaving was different. Sebastian didn’t want to think about that just yet.

They returned home to Grosvenor Street that evening soaking wet from the rain, which had worsened dramatically during the car-ride home. Upon entering the house they were given the instructions to leave their shoes and coats by the door to dry off, before the pair of boys traipsed obediently upstairs to the bathroom to brush their teeth. Sebastian had brought most of his belongings along with him in his schoolbag, including his pyjamas, his toothbrush, and his copy of Treasure Island just in-case Jim fell asleep before him and he needed something to occupy himself. He didn’t need a clean set of clothes, as they had school the following day and Kirstie had already offered to drop them off in the car. At first Jim had been skeptical, claiming that both he and Sebastian were perfectly capable of cycling to school by themselves, but it was scheduled to rain again the following day and Sebastian was secretly more than grateful for the offer of the lift.

Jim wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the bathroom mirror yet, and had to balance himself precariously on a plastic stool whilst he brushed his teeth. Sebastian thankfully didn’t have the same problem as his smaller counterpart, and was able to brush his teeth with ease as he balanced himself against the side of the sink. Jim didn’t enjoy nighttime routines - it was something that Sebastian first learnt when they had shared a hotel room in London together; as he glanced over to the smaller boy he noticed how long it was taking him to brush his teeth, as if the very act of placing toothpaste onto his brush was a tedious chore in itself. Even before heading to the bathroom Jim had argued with his foster mother about how he didn’t want to get changed into his pyjamas, a common ritual by the looks of it, and had only agreed to undress out of his uniform after being bribed with an extra five minutes before lights out that night.

Once they were finished in the bathroom, Sebastian accompanied Jim to his bedroom, which had been altered slightly for the blond’s visit. A mattress had been set up in the middle of the carpet in preparation for Sebastian’s stay, accompanied by his familiar tiger-patterned bedsheets which his father had dropped off while he was still at school. The bedsheets caught the attention of Kirstie, who lingered curiously in the doorway after checking to make sure that both boys were comfortable and tucked up in their own separate beds.

“Those are nice bedsheets, Sebastian,” she commented kindly, now wrapped in her dressing gown and slippers. “Do you like tigers then?”

“He doesn’t just like tigers, they’re his favourite animal,” Jim corrected the woman firmly before Sebastian even had a chance to respond.

“Why is that?”

“Because they’re strong,” Sebastian explained feebly, feeling his cheeks burning with embarrassment the more he spoke. “And majestic too. They’re very clever, and their stripes mean that the other animals can’t see them when they’re hunting.”

“Majestic is a very grown-up word.”

“‘Bastian knows lots of big words, he’s really smart,” Jim boasted proudly.

Kirstie didn’t stay for long, and after explaining that she’d come to wake them both up at eight the next morning she finally flicked the switch of Jim’s beside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. She stifled a short yawn and said her goodnights, before lingering hesitantly in the doorway to as if to double-check that both boys were comfortable enough. Sebastian couldn’t help but notice in the dim light of the hallway that somebody else was stood behind her, either that or his tired mind was playing tricks on him.

“And remember, we’re only next-door… If you need anything then don’t be afraid to come and find us.”

As soon as the door closed behind her a series of concerned whispers erupted from the other side of the door, confirming Sebastian’s suspicions that the Englishman had been stood there all along. By the sounds of it Brian was attempting to reassure Kirstie and calm her down, and it was a few minutes before the voices eventually faded, and both sets of footsteps traipsed down the hallway before disappearing off into their own bedroom. Once the hallway lights were switched off and the door to Kirstie and Brian’s room had closed, Sebastian rolled over on his mattress to face Jim, who had already switched his bedside lamp back on and crawled down from the top of his high sleeper.

“They seem worried,” Sebastian said with a slight frown, as Jim descended down the final step of the stepladder and flopped onto the mattress next to him. “Have you ever had a sleepover before?”

The long day had certainly taken its toll on Jim, whose eyes were now noticeably red and puffy. His lips still carried the faint, chocolate-y trace of cake icing, which he had polished off in secret when Kirstie wasn’t looking, and overall it made for a rather endearing sight. Sebastian wanted nothing more than to scoop Jim up into his arms and protect him like a best friend should, but he was beginning to feel equally just as tired and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and go to sleep.

“Have you?” Jim retorted, more out of jealousy than concern; he didn’t favour being the odd one out.

“Err I dunno... not apart from this.”

“Then neither have I,” the smaller boy decided nonchalantly, his eyes transfixing on the fabricated pattern sewn into Sebastian’s bedsheets.

Sebastian caught sight of what Jim was staring at and instantly understood the silent request, peeling back the bedsheets so that Jim could squeeze into the space beside him. But oddly instead of joining Sebastian underneath the duvet cover like he usually would have, the smaller boy clambered carefully to his feet, tugging on his dressing gown from the crumpled-up heap on the floor and grabbing for his flashlight. Initially Sebastian had been rather disheartened by the rejection, however the sight of the flashlight immediately caught his attention. Feeling a wave of curiosity he quickly slid out from underneath the bedsheets and stood up to join Jim, who had already switched on the torch and was projecting the beam of light towards the door.

“Where are we going?”

“Exploring,” Jim whispered simply, pressing the palm of his hand against the door before slowly pushing it open. “Isn’t that what people are s’posed to do during sleepovers?”

A dull creak sounded as Jim made contact with the door, and slowly the panel of wood cracked open to reveal the darkened hallway. The only source of light came from the dingy street-lamps outside, but even they weren’t enough to properly illuminate the hallway, so the smaller boy was forced to lead the way downstairs with the flashlight clasped tightly in his hand. A low chorus of snores sounded from the door to Kirstie and Brian’s room as they crept past, and Sebastian was reassured by the knowledge that the Englishman’s overly-loud snores would be enough to mask the sound of their voices.

“I dunno.”

“Now shut up or we’ll get caught.”

There was something about sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night that made Sebastian feel almost like a spy in an action novel. He had read enough James Bond books over the years to know that behaviour like this was usually reserved for top secret agents and criminal masterminds who were up to no good, but the very act of disobeying two respected grown-ups filled him with an uncontrollable rush of adrenaline. Even as they reached the kitchen his heart was still pounding in his chest, contrasted with Jim who appeared completely unfazed by the fact that if they were caught they’d be in a humungous amount of trouble.

Sebastian was given the task of holding the torch while Jim teetered on his tip-toes and opened the fridge-door, using both hands to retrieve a large, porcelain plate from the top shelf, the contents of which had been wrapped in a generous amount of tinfoil. As Jim placed the cake down upon the kitchen table, Sebastian recognised it immediately as being the chocolate cake they had eaten earlier that lunchtime, and when the raven-haired boy carefully stripped back the layer of tinfoil he didn’t bother to hide his obvious excitement upon being presented with the large display of chocolate sponge and icing.

“It’s my birthday cake, we can’t get in trouble for eating it,” Jim decided, hovering thoughtfully by the edge of the table so that he could survey the dessert.

After examining it closely and deciding that it was adequate enough to eat, he slowly outstretched his index finger, dragging it with precision along the thick layer of frosting on top before popping it into his mouth. Sebastian took a more hesitant approach to Jim, attempting to carefully pick off a few stray pieces of frosting without leaving too much of a mark, however soon enough all care was quickly forgotten about. They could have easily used cutlery if they wanted to, but a unanimous agreement was made that using their hands would be much easier. It wasn’t long at all before both Jim and Sebastian were scooping up pieces of sponge with their bare hands, completely disregarding all of the mess they were making along the way.

Jim was still being extremely cautious with his quantities, compared to Sebastian who had proceeded to cram a large fistful of sponge into his mouth, despite the fact that it could barely fit. He watched Jim with curiosity whilst he munched on his mouthful, admiring the way the raven-haired boy traced his finger along the top sheet of frosting, taking very delicate mouthfuls each time after long periods of observation and mental calculations.

“What d’you reckon then?” Sebastian asked curiously, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth to brush away any remaining crumbs once he had finished his mouthful. He looked down to the remaining contents of the cake, only to discover that they must have eaten at-least half of it. A part of him felt guilty, but then he remembered Jim’s bold statement at the beginning. He was right, it was his birthday after all, and therefore he should be able to dictate whether or not they deserved cake.

“About what?” Jim asked, looking up immediately in concern, a piece of frosting still glued to his finger.

“Your birthday, good or bad?”

He deliberated momentarily at the question, popping the stray clump of chocolate frosting into his mouth so that he had a chance to properly consider what Sebastian had asked him. Sebastian watched closely, almost worried that Jim was about to proclaim that it had been the worst birthday of his entire life, however after a few seconds the smaller boy’s shoulders eventually relaxed, and he seemed to crack what could only be described as a faint smile.

“Excellent,” Jim decided firmly, casting his gaze down towards the partially-destroyed birthday cake in-front of them, then towards their chocolate-covered hands. “I wish it was my birthday everyday.”

“You’ll have another birthday party like this next year, won’t you?”

Jim shrugged, his attention diverting towards the sound of voices in the upstairs bedroom, arguing as to whether or not they should check-up on the two ‘sleeping’ boys in Jim’s bedroom.

“Dunno, it depends.”

“Depends?”

“If Kirstie kills us when she finds out we’re not in bed like we’re s’posed to be.”


	12. Mr and Mrs Perry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's social worker pays a surprise visit to the house with good news, however it isn't the good news Jim was hoping for.

Jim's social worker was a blonde, overly-enthusiastic woman by the name of Caroline. Caroline was fairly new to the job, after applying several months ago due to a vacancy; she didn’t visit very often, but whenever she did she often had a habit of laughing excessively at whatever terrible joke was being said, or calling Jim stupid nicknames like ‘buddy’ or ‘chap’ to try and break the ice. Jim didn’t like her, but according to Kirstie he still had to be polite and smile since she was only trying her best to be helpful. He personally didn’t understand what was so ‘helpful’ about Caroline sticking her stupid nose into other people’s business, especially when she treated him like a baby at the same time. During her last visit to the house she had felt the need to simplify her words so that Jim could understand, using the same, gentle voice that you would use when addressing a toddler; in the end Jim had kicked up so much of a tantrum once she was gone that Kirstie had been forced to explain to the woman over the phone that he was particularly sensitive to people underestimating his intelligence, and as an apology Kirstie had taken the raven-haired boy to the university library the very next day so that he could pick out a new book on astrophysics for himself. The phone call must have paid off, as the social worker hadn’t visited the house for months since the incident, much to Jim’s utter delight.

It was the January following on from Jim’s tenth birthday when Caroline arrived at the house at short-notice, with what she had described as ‘good news’ over the telephone.

The new year had already been and gone. It hadn’t been a very fancy celebration; Jim had spent the remainder of New Year’s Eve sat in the living room with his foster family, attempting to solve the Rubik’s Cube he had been gifted for Christmas. In the end it had taken him exactly four minutes and twelve seconds, all while the countdown to midnight played in the background, and Kirstie fussed over the final preparations for the buffet they were serving for dinner. Kirstie’s parents visited briefly towards the end of the evening, only to join in with the buffet and to watch the fireworks, before eventually departing at around one am once they were pleasantly drunk enough. Usually Jim wasn’t allowed to stay up late, but since it was New Year he had been allowed to stay up until midnight to watch the fireworks display taking place on the local playing fields. Admittedly they weren’t very interesting fireworks, and he was far more invested in trying to solve his Rubik’s cube for a third time, but everybody had been in high spirits, and towards the end of the evening he had even won the final game of Gin Rummy so he couldn’t complain.

He would have invited Sebastian over for the celebrations, if the traitor wasn’t busy visiting his great aunt up in Dundalk. He had promised Jim that it would only be a two-week visit and that he would be back in time for the new school term, but that didn’t stop Jim from feeling any less spiteful that Sebastian was away spending the holidays with his deeply-religious extended family whilst he was stuck at home in Dublin. Sebastian was in fifth class now, which meant in just over a year he’d be abandoning Jim and moving up to big school. Not only that, but to make Jim especially jealous the blond had experienced yet another growth spurt, and had been forced to replace the entirety of his old school uniform back in November after outgrowing it.

Jim was still very much the same, unlike Sebastian who stood taller than ever and whose voice was beginning to crackle as he slowly approached puberty. Jim still wasn’t any taller, nor had his voice broken, and every so often he would be mistaken for an eight or a nine year old. His frame was still pale and stick-like, the only minor difference being that his skin was covered in different bruises and faded scars - some of which he had earned after falling off of his bike and being pushed over repeatedly in the school playground, while others were intentional and were a product of some of Jim’s more unfortunate ‘bad days’. He himself was in fourth class now, not that he enjoyed it at all. Upper school was a hellhole; there were around fifteen other boys in his class, all of whom were loud and overly-confident, and obsessed with showing off the fighting moves they had learnt from the action films on television. Jim had already made up his mind that there was no need to make new friends, and as a result he was now a primary target for bullying amongst his peers. Most days he would arrive to find that the other boys in his class had stolen his pencil case, or hidden his books on the top shelf where they knew he couldn’t reach them, and each lunchtime Sebastian would be met by a tear-stained Jim and be forced to confront the culprits. Sebastian’s confrontation usually always ended in a fight, but Jim naturally made sure to thank him by pecking his cheek with a kiss and sharing his sweets with the blond on their way home together after waiting for Sebastian to return from detention.

When Jim’s social worker arrived on the morning in question she appeared to be in an exceedingly good mood, and was accompanied by a large stack of papers tucked inside of her work-bag. She was led immediately into the living room and ushered towards one of the cushioned sofas, whilst Kirstie disappeared off to the kitchen to make tea for them all. The Christmas decorations had been taken down a few days earlier, and the living room looked unusually barren now that there was no tree stood in the corner of the room. Christmas wasn’t a very big occasion in Jim’s household, mainly because neither Kirstie or Brian were very religious. They believed in science more than they did God, the theory that the universe was created by the Big Bang, and that humans were just evolved versions of apes. It was strange compared to the rest of the town, where nearly all of the residents’ houses were filled with statues of Jesus and carefully-preserved copies of the Bible. According to Kirstie both her and Brian were called ‘atheists’, and Jim supposed that must have meant he was an atheist too. He didn’t attend holy Mass, nor the Sunday service which took place at the town church every week, and he and Kirstie would often sit and joke about the terrible assemblies the parish priest would deliver every few months at Jim’s school. He was an elderly man, with not much hair and a wonky pair of glasses that didn’t sit properly on his face, and every now and again he could be seen riding his bicycle down Grosvenor Street when on his way to the church, his black robes trailing behind him in the wind.

Despite his unwillingness, Jim had been dragged down from his bedroom that morning to greet Caroline, and hovered reluctantly at the bottom of the stairs while the two women sipped on their tea and chattered about trivial matters. There was a deep scowl creasing his brow like whenever the social worker paid an unwelcome visit, however when Caroline caught sight of the raven-haired boy she instantly perked up, and beckoned him over with a smile of encouragement.

“Jim, look at how grown-up you are,” she greeted him eagerly, lowering her cup of tea as Jim traipsed irritably into the living room, taking a seat far away from the woman on the armchair at the opposite side of the room, just so that he didn’t have to subject himself to the unmistakable smell of nicotine on her clothes. She never smoked inside of the house, but sometimes he could see her lighting up a cigarette in her car when she thought that nobody was watching.

He was dressed in a frayed, red hoodie and a brand new set of trainers he had been given for Christmas, with white shoelaces and a set of green stripes up the side. Originally Jim had been planning to go to the woods that morning to visit the rope swing; despite the cold weather he had filled a backpack with different books and his Rubik’s cube to occupy himself, even with a small packed lunch that his foster mother had made. There hadn’t been any gang meetings for almost a month since Sebastian was still selfishly in Dundalk. Kirstie could tell that Jim was growing restless from the way he rarely slept or ate his dinner anymore, and how he constantly locked himself away in his bedroom to prevent him from having to speak to anybody. She had attempted to bribe him out multiple times with the promise of going to the library or the threat of telephoning a doctor, but without Sebastian her attempts were hopeless. Jim simply didn’t want to listen.

“I’ve got something I think you might be interested in,” Caroline explained tentatively, leaning forward so that she could rummage around in the workbag sat by her feet.

“Is it a present?”

Caroline emitted her usual, unbearable laugh, which Jim took to mean that the answer was a firm no. Already he could tell that the conversation was going to be disappointing if there were no presents to give out, until he watched the woman retrieve a large folder from her bag, opening it up to reveal a wad of papers stacked inside. She shuffled through the papers one by one, her painted fingernails flicking through each document before eventually she pulled out what appeared to be the correct one, gesturing for Jim to join her. At first he hesitated, eyeing the document with suspicion, before Kirstie’s gentle expression reassured him that whatever it was it couldn’t be too bad.

Jim wedged himself into a spot between the two women on the sofa, who he noticed were both being unnaturally quiet. Their expressions were kind, however it was the type of artificial kindness which Jim took to mean that he wasn’t going to like whatever it was they were about to present him with. Kirstie quickly excused herself, collecting up the empty teacups from the table and disappearing into the kitchen to either do the washing up or to escape Jim’s inevitable outburst.

Once she was gone, Caroline cautiously handed Jim the document in her hands which displayed two names clearly at the top: ‘ _Charles and Nancy Perry_ ’. There was a grainy, black and white photograph of the Perry’s underneath, neither of whom appeared to be smiling; Charles Perry was a stern, square man with not much facial hair and a hooked nose, whilst Nancy Perry was merely a slender, sharper version of her husband, holding to what appeared to be some pet cat with a bell fastened around its collar.

“What’s this got to do with anything?” Jim questioned spitefully, handing the paper back over to the social worker once he had had enough of staring at the Perrys’ faces.

Caroline obediently took the document, however she didn’t place it back into her workbag. Instead she kept a tight hold of it, as if waiting for the right moment to try and coax Jim with the information. The sounds of a running tap and cutlery being stacked away could still be heard from the kitchen, and broke the otherwise-tense silence shrouding the room. Jim’s stomach was beginning to turn, either because he hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning or because Caroline was watching him with a sympathetic look which made his skin crawl.

“They want to meet you.”

“What for?”

“Well… Mrs Perry can’t have children, and she told us she’s always wanted a little boy of her own. She and her husband have been thinking and they’ve decided that-"

“-No.”

“I know it’s scary, but they’re very excited to meet you, James.”

“Well tell them I don’t want to meet them!”

“James-"

“I’ve already got a family, I don’t need a fat-mouthed moron like you to give me another one!”

It was at that point when Kirstie finally reemerged from the kitchen, having overheard the entirety of the conversation from outside, including the foul-tempered insult Jim had hurled at the social worker. She hovered worriedly by the door, her hands still slightly pruned from the washing up, before finally she dared to approach the sofa in an attempt to deescalate the situation. But Jim wasn’t a compliant eight-year-old anymore, not that he had particularly been one in the first place; he was ten now, and whilst she was getting older and greyer, Jim’s rogue behaviour wasn’t getting any easier to handle.

“Do you remember what we told you when you first came to live with us, James?” She asked softly, slowly easing herself down onto the sofa and resting her palm against Jim’s cheek, holding his attention. “Me and Brian… we’re getting old now, we can’t look after you forever.”

“You’re getting rid of me.”

“The Perry’s are nice people, I know you’ll like them both.”

“But I don’t want to like them, I want to stay here.”

“It’ll be a weekend trip,” Kirstie explained quietly, almost guiltily. “Just to see whether you like staying with them or not. We’ll come to pick you up at lunchtime on Sunday I promise.”

That evening Jim refused to come downstairs for dinner, even though Kirstie had gone to the effort of making roast beef, potatoes, and peas as a way of apologising to the furious ten-year-old, knowing that it was his favourite. Over the last month Jim had developed a severe pickiness over his food, meaning that neither the potatoes or peas were allowed to touch, and had to be kept at two different ends of the plate to prevent them from mingling and contaminating one another. He no longer ate soup or spaghetti bolognese after deciding that the textures of both were ‘too soggy’ for his liking, and whenever Kirstie served either dish for dinner he’d make a point of pushing his food relentlessly around the plate with his spoon instead of actually eating it, or scraping the contents into the bin when nobody was watching.

But even despite Kirstie making sure to separate the two foods like he usually requested, there was still no sign of Jim at the dinner table that night. Instead he resigned himself to his bedroom, closing the door behind him and propping his desk-chair against the handle so that nobody could force entry. Not that anybody ever tried anyway. His bedroom hadn’t changed much throughout the years, aside from the fact that the old astronomy posters on his wall were beginning to fall down, and the blue duvet cover on his bed had been replaced by a bright red one, despite it no longer matching the blue walls. Two months ago he had decided that red was now his new favourite colour, not blue. There was no particular reason for it, only the fact that red made him feel powerful, almost as if he was untouchable, and he liked that a lot. Jim had previously asked to paint his bedroom walls too, the same colour as his bedsheets, however it was Kirstie who had politely rejected the idea upon deciding that it would be a far too excessive amount of red, and Jim’s walls were subsequently repainted the same boring shade of blue as they had been before.

He stripped off his hoodie, clambering irritably up the ladder of his high sleeper so that he could rest upon his mattress in comfortable silence now that there was no threat of being disturbed. From under his bedsheets Jim retrieved his prized Rubik’s Cube, twisting the plastic aimlessly around in his hands as he stared up towards the ceiling. He could phone Sebastian to tell him the emergency - no - telephone bills were expensive, and besides Sebastian was far too busy doing whatever people did in Dundalk to listen to him complain.

It took one minute and fifteen seconds to solve all sides of the cube, one minute earlier than Jim’s previous personal best. He would have been satisfied, if it wasn’t for the chattering voices downstairs reminding him of the two traitorous adults who had betrayed him. He was angry at Kirstie in particular for breaking his trust, for knowing about the plan to abandon him all along without actually telling him; all Jim wanted to do was scream at her, to call her a fat cow or a stupid idiot like she deserved, but even he realised that calling the older woman those names would only get him into a bigger amount of trouble than he was already in. But that didn’t stop him from being positively furious at her, and he was still determined to let her know.

There came no indication of the scraping of food into the bin, which must have meant that Jim’s leftover dinner was being preserved in the fridge. It didn’t make a difference, he still wouldn’t eat it - another one of his new picky-eater habits. He didn’t touch leftovers. With a low groan Jim rolled over onto his side, tossing the Rubik’s Cube against the end of his bed once he had gradually lost all interest in it. The plastic collided with the wooden footboard with a dissatisfying thud, though thankfully it wasn’t loud enough to gain the attention of the adults downstairs. Jim could feel something heavy weighing against him, only to realise that he had forgotten to take off his jeans and trainers. He had gone to the woods in the end but only briefly. On his way he had spotted a few boys from his class loitering outside of the corner shop on their bikes, and swiftly decided that he’d much rather stay in the safety of his own home where they wouldn’t be able to call him names or follow after him. After stripping down into his vest and boxers Jim finally wriggled under the bedsheets, wrapping them as tightly around himself as he could almost as if he was in a protective cocoon. No doubt Kirstie would come and wake him up later to try and bribe him with his medication, like she always did when he’d forgotten to take it; he was on 50 grams now instead of 20 grams - a telling sign if any. She’d knock and shout from outside, but since Jim had barricaded the door she’d have no way of getting inside, meaning that she’d probably just leave the capsules on the doorstep like she usually did in hopes that Jim would take them. The ten-year-old smiled tiredly at the thought of the woman rushing up and down outside of his door like a headless chicken, before eventually he closed his eyes and pulled the bedsheets firmly over the top of his head so that he could sleep, the noise from the kitchen having completely fizzled out and providing him with total, blissful silence.

The Perry family lived in Dublin too, only their house resided on the other side of the city. The _nicer_ side.

In his head Jim had calculated that the drive would take around one hour, or one hour and fifteen minutes if they stopped for petrol along the way. On Saturday morning he stood packed and ready to go by the front-door, watching as Charles Perry loaded his suitcase into the back of the black Vauxhall they had arrived in. He wasn’t as tall as the photograph had made him out to be, and it must have been old considering that in the photo Mr Perry had dark, bushy hair, whereas now he had noticeable white stripes across the top of his head from where a few, stray grey hairs were beginning to protrude. Mrs Perry was very much the same, only she had managed to compose herself a lot more glamorously than her husband.

When Jim arrived downstairs with his suitcase Mrs Perry and Kirstie were already stood talking in the hallway. The other woman was a lot different compared to Kirstie, in the sense that she wore bright red lipstick and powder blush, and when she smiled her white teeth all aligned perfectly instead of some of them being crooked. Jim noticed from the very start how uncomfortable Kirstie was around her, by the way she fumbled with the thread on her cardigan and how she broke away from the conversation at the first possible opportunity. Intimidation perhaps, or maybe just the fact that she was supposed to be delivering a lecture up at the university that afternoon and couldn’t risk being late.

“All ready to go?” The older woman asked in an overly-cheerful voice, coming to stand in-front of Jim so that she could carefully button up his coat, checking to make sure that there were no stains of toothpaste around his mouth or stray pieces of fluff tangled in his hair.

“If this isn’t the young man everybody’s been talking about,” said Mrs Perry, who had stepped forward once her curiosity got the better of her and offered the raven-haired boy a polite smile.

“James, isn’t it?”

She outstretched a slender hand, only for Jim to refuse to shake it.

“Have you packed everything you want to take?” Kirstie interjected, realising with a pang of dismay that Jim wasn’t in a very talkative mood. She crouched down and checked to make sure that Jim’s shoelaces were fully tied, and once she was satisfied she quickly stood up once more and pressed a final kiss to the side of the boy’s cheek, which he immediately wiped away with a huff of embarrassment. “Your pyjamas are at the bottom of the suitcase alongside your clean clothes, I put your tablets in your wash-bag along with your toothbrush. James Moriarty you promise me that you’ll brush your teeth, won’t you?”

He could tell she was worrying, which was admittedly strange for the older woman. Jim was merely part of one of the handfuls of children Kirstie had looked after over the years, yet judging by the expression on her face Jim might as well be the first ever child she had taken into her care. It seemed like genuine concern, which begged the question as to why she kept fostering children if she wasn’t good at letting go. But Kirstie was kinder than Jim or anybody else gave her credit for, and there was no mistake that the poor woman had a heart of gold.

The car horn beeped from outside before there was a chance for a long goodbye, and Mrs Perry appeared keen to leave as quickly as possible.

“Now behave, won’t you Einstein?” Kirstie instructed sternly, before leaning in for a final hug and whispering playfully in the boy’s ear. “If you’re good then I’ll treat you to a trip to the planetarium on the way home, how does that sound?”

Thankfully Jim’s giggles were masked by the fabric of Kirstie’s cardigan pressing against his mouth, and when he reemerged from the hug he was met with a flustered-looking Mrs Perry, who kept toying with her handbag and glancing anxiously towards the open door.

“We’ll have lots of fun, won’t we James?” She assured the boy brightly, exchanging a final few words with Kirstie before ushering Jim hastily outside to where the car was awaiting them.

Mr Perry sat in the driver’s seat, a lit cigarette hanging from between his teeth whilst his fingers drummed aimlessly against the plastic-coated steering wheel. He stopped only when Jim slid into the backseat, before quickly stubbing out his cigarette and pressing a brief kiss to his wife’s cheek who had slid into the passenger seat beside him.

“Alright, matey?”

“My name’s not matey,” Jim retorted dryly, immediately wiping the smug grin from Mr Perry’s face.

The engine started without another word, and Mr Perry proceeded to ramble on about current affairs and the state of the economy. He must have worked in the business industry then; it made sense as to why they owned an expensive car, and as to why Mr Perry’s personality was already revealing itself to be so very boring.

Jim managed to catch a last glimpse of Kirstie as they pulled away from the curb, her rosy cheeks still glowing in the morning light, and her hand partly-raised as if she had tried to wave but Jim and the Perry’s had already driven away. Once they turned the corner Jim sunk back against his seat, earning the attention of Nancy who was observing him with thought in the rearview mirror.

“I know it must be scary coming to stay somewhere you’ve never been before,” she spoke tentatively, brushing her hair back out of her face as she turned in her seat to face him. She offered a smile, however Jim was already captivated by the unfamiliar territory passing by outside of the window, and staring at it with heightened suspicion.

“But you shouldn’t worry… You’ll have your own bedroom, and there’s a big garden for you to play in. Your social worker told us you liked books, I’m a writer you see.”

“I’m not scared,” he mumbled adamantly. “I’m not scared of anything.”

Jim watched as they turned onto the motorway, before quickly growing bored of the abundance of cars and turning his attention towards Mrs Perry. Her smile wasn’t at all like Kirstie’s; whenever Kirstie smiled there was never any doubt at all that it was genuine, though that didn’t appear to be the case for the new woman, who seemed more hesitant than actually jolly, and kept flickering her gaze back and forth between her husband and the small boy perched on the backseat.

“…I like books about maths and science, not stories. They’re called non-fiction,” he stated confidently, knowing that this was only a half-truth, but he said it anyway in an effort to seem mature.

Jim liked fairytales, which weren’t at all mathematical, nor were they scientific. He only had two books in total; one being an accumulation of Hans Christian Andersen stories he had once stolen from the city library and never returned, and the other being a complete collection of Grimm fairy stories which he had practically begged Kirstie for in the weeks leading up to his seventh birthday. At first Kirstie had been highly skeptical; she stated that the stories were far too gruesome for children, and that their reputation made them inappropriate for little boys such as Jim to read, however after a considerable amount of pleading she finally gave in and on the morning of his birthday Jim was presented with a small box wrapped neatly in parcel paper when he arrived downstairs for breakfast, with the label ‘ _for Jim_ ’ written in cursive on the cover. In the weeks following on from his birthday Jim would stay up until the early hours of the morning, balancing a flashlight carefully between his teeth as he read through each and every one of the stories, even if Sebastian was the only person aware that he did.

Mrs Perry didn’t make anymore stupid comments as they drove, which suited Jim perfectly fine. She turned her attention back towards her husband, continuing on their tedious conversation about the rising stock market, simultaneously fumbling around in her handbag so that she could top-up her lipstick. While they were occupied, Jim slouched back against his seat and peered out of the window, realising with a pang of unease that he had absolutely no clue where they were. They were no longer on the motorway, but instead they were passing through a country road, lined with large, intimidating houses which all looked identical to one another in their white paint and pristine front-gardens, nothing like the heavily-graffitied, ramshackle houses lining Grosvenor Street.

“Just a few rules before we go inside,” the woman explained curtly, placing her lipstick back into her handbag once more and puckering her lips as they approached what appeared to be the driveway of the house. “…You’ll have to take your shoes off by the door, the carpets are brand new and we can’t risk them getting filthy. Dinner is at five o’clock and bedtime will be at eight, I’m assuming I won’t have to help you to bathe yourself?”

Mrs Perry’s words sounded as if they had come straight out of a parenting manual, which in hindsight they probably had. Jim tried to suppress a frown as she continued listing off the long list of rules, from no swearing, no bad manners at the dinner table, and no tantrums when it came to brushing his teeth before bed, almost as if she was already well-aware of Jim’s bad habits from the notes in her pocket. She had tried to hide them, but Jim’s social worker’s terrible handwriting was impossible to miss.

Then suddenly, she paused, her demeanour completely changing.

“Do you like animals, James?”

Jim tore his attention away from the window, his brow immediately furrowing.

“Dunno… I’ve never thought about it before,” he admitted truthfully. “Why?”

“Only we have a cat, Marigold, she’s a white Persian… you’ll have to forgive her, she’s very friendly.”

“Persian?”

“Oh.” The woman chuckled lightly. “It’s only a breed of cat, dear, nothing to be worried about.”

Jim did as he was told, leaving his shoes by the front entrance as he followed both Mr and Mrs Perry inside their lavish home. The interior walls, just like those on the outside, had been painted pure white, and were lined with a vast array of photographs and framed certificates that had been awarded to Mrs Perry for her writing endeavours. As the tour of the house continued, Jim was beginning to feel increasingly out of his depth, and the bountiful amount of rooms and garden-space made him realise that this was nothing like the quaint little house he was so used to living in. There were two living rooms in total, a games room, an elaborate dining room, and an office which Jim was strictly refused access to, as well as upstairs which the older woman was especially keen to show-off to Jim.

He traipsed warily after her, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets despite the Perry’s both insisting that it was ‘bad manners’. Jim came to an abrupt halt next to Mrs Perry as she stopped at the top of the staircase, in-front of a room with seemingly not much inside of it.

“If you decide to stay with us then this will be your bedroom,” she explained gently, clearly very proud of herself as she ushered the boy inside.

The room itself was significantly larger than Jim’s current bedroom, with a window overlooking the garden and a wooden wardrobe for him to put all of his belongings in. There was only one bed positioned against one of the walls in the centre of the room, which was currently stripped bare so that Jim could use his own duvet and pillows order to prevent him becoming homesick, as well as a rather terrible painting of Marigold the cat who Jim still had yet to meet. One of the most striking facts about the room, alike with the rest of the house, was that there were no religious symbols anywhere. There were no crosses hung up in the living room, no sculptures of the Virgin Mary hidden behind one of the teapots or biscuit tin in the kitchen. In-fact it was the only element of the house that he actually liked.

“You can paint the walls whatever colour you want.”

“Can I paint them red?”

“Red?” Mrs Perry’s cheeks instantly flushed. “That’s a very… bold statement. Are you sure you wouldn’t like something calmer? How about blue?”

“But I like red.”

After some initial hesitation the woman eventually cleared her throat, looking around each of the white, four walls with a flustered, almost-uncertain expression. However instead of conveying her concerns aloud, she merely laughed feebly, and offered a strained smile to James.

“I see, well red is okay! Red’s good!” She promised unconvincingly in response. “…How about I give you some time to look around? Me and Charles thought we could go to the park this afternoon to feed the ducks, how does that sound?”

Jim opened his mouth to object to the idea, but before he was even able to string together a sentence Mrs Perry had already disappeared downstairs once more, no doubt to relay what had just happened to her husband. Jim made no attempt to follow after her, even though he still didn’t know where the bathroom was, and he groaned irritably before skulking into his new temporary bedroom.

After dumping his bag down onto the beige carpet Jim decided to acquaint himself with the room. Ten minutes of intense examination followed; the raven-haired boy searched through every single cupboard and drawer, only to find them all disappointedly empty apart from an old matchbox and a discarded ball of string that had been sitting in the bottom of one of the drawers. He would have left them there, if it hadn’t been for the small voice in the back of his head telling him to keep the random ornaments. After retrieving the two objects and placing them down upon his bed he quickly set to work on unpacking his suitcase, deciding that the act of arranging all of his clothes and books would be enough to occupy his mind. He wished that he wasn’t with the stupid Perry’s, and that he was back in his own home in his _own_ bedroom, but even then what fun was there to be had when Sebastian wasn’t even there. The very thought of Sebastian alone was enough to anger the already-furious ten-year-old, and he snatched his wash bag from the suitcase with more force than he initially intended, hurling it onto the bedsheets in a foul strop.

Halfway through his unpacking, Jim was interrupted by a faint noise coming from the doorway, almost muffled by the sound of the radio from the kitchen downstairs. Immediately he turned to see who the intruder was, only to be greeted by a ball of white fluff in the form of a rather-tubby white cat, who was currently sat in the threshold staring at him as though he was the strangest creature it had ever laid eyes upon. The cat in question must have been Marigold, whose painting was hung up on the wall above Jim’s bed. She was older and fatter than the painting portrayed her to be, and the fur around her mouth was covered in crumbs of what appeared to be trout or some other type of expensive fish.

“I don’t like cats,” Jim spoke dryly, as if Marigold might somehow get the hint and leave him alone.

However to his dismay the curious cat did the opposite, and strolled uninvited into his new bedroom, only to hop up onto his bed and sniff around each of his clothes. Her fluffy tail flicked up into the air as she perused the bed, eventually growing bored and coming to curl up inside of the suitcase, as if her goal was to antagonise the raven-haired boy. He had never owned a pet before; there were pets on the estate, but Jim had never taken fondly to them. The new couple next door owned a Rottweiler, which would sometimes bark in the middle of the night or sneak into the garden and excrete all over Kirstie’s prized flowerbeds through the gap in the garden fence. Sometimes in the mornings the dog would be out on the street, and Jim was forced to manoeuvre onto the other side of the road out of fear that he might get bitten or chased on his way to school. He didn’t like animals very much, dogs especially. They were horrible, brutish things, with pointed teeth and an ability to tear any scrawny, ten-year-old boy to shreds if they ever got the chance. Cats were only a tad better, though right now Marigold appeared to be basking gloriously in Jim’s discontent, and was seriously testing his patience.

“Don’t touch my things,” he ordered sternly, attempting to swat the creature out of his way only for her to completely ignore him. She had her body rested against Jim’s pyjamas, and he could already see where a few strands of fur had fallen off and were beginning to contaminate the fabric of his clothing.

“You’re a stupid cat, I hate you.”

He huffed adamantly and turned his back on Marigold, picking up the empty matchbox and ball of string so that he could tuck them away into his pocket for safekeeping, but as soon as he picked up the string he became suddenly aware that the cat had perked up and straightened out, and was captivated by the foreign object in his hands.

Jim’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment, and he had no choice but to hand over his newly-discovered ball of string to the intrigued creature, who in-turn took it happily.

“There, you take it,” he sniffed quietly, standing back and watching as the cat began to swipe at the abundance of string with her paw, completely losing all interest in the raven-haired boy. “It’s just string, it’s not important anyway.”

Marigold then meowed, which Jim took to mean ‘ _thank you_ ’.

“But this doesn’t mean I like you.”

Mrs Perry didn’t believe in ‘babying children’, or at least that’s how she had explained it when Jim came downstairs after lunch to find that somebody had untied the shoelaces of his brand-new pair of trainers. Most of the time he kept them tied incase of an emergency, and could easily go up to four days without the need to tie them again. It wasn’t that he couldn’t be bothered, it was simply that he didn’t know how to. Jim didn’t know how to do a lot of things for himself - including cooking, ironing, and in this case tying his own shoelaces. He preferred to sit on the sidelines and watch when it came to such events. It was partly Kirstie’s fault, who over the years had grown so used to meeting Jim’s demands that it was virtually second nature for her to do everything for him. He didn’t behave like other ten-year-olds, nor was he as tall or as strong as them, which was why she treated him more like a dependent child rather than a growing boy, and admittedly had what could be described as a soft spot for him.

Mrs Perry on the other hand was the complete opposite. As her initial hesitance from earlier that morning faded away, Jim learnt that she was in-fact a rather stern woman, and prided herself on regular routines and discipline. The raven-haired boy assumed that it was because she was a writer, and the constant deadlines and critiques meant that she was so used to bossing people around even when she wasn’t at work.

“I don’t see why a young man like yourself wouldn’t be able to tie his shoelaces, James,” she spoke in a calm manner, standing opposite from Jim in the hallway whilst her husband finished off a telephone call with some wealthy businessman in the kitchen.

They were off to the park, like what had been suggested earlier in the car. Jim was still unconvinced by the idea, not so much because of the dirt or the cold weather, but because going to the park on your own wasn’t very fun. He had wanted to bring along his new book, one dedicated to black holes and the concept of parallel universes, however Mrs Perry quickly opposed the idea, reminding Jim that this was supposed to be a ‘fun weekend’, without the need for books about space and science. Jim wasn’t sure what the definition of fun was if science was’t included, but spending the afternoon in a muddy playground surrounded by little snot-nosed brats certainly wasn’t his idea of the word.

Jim stared down to the two identical laces of his left shoe, picking them up and weighing them tentatively in his hands in confusion. He didn’t know the first step to tying his laces, and he realised with a pang of regret that he probably should have been paying closer attention whenever Kirstie or Sebastian tied them for him. He tried to remember the little rhyme that Sebastian would sometimes muttered under his breath to help him remember, and after navigating through his memories he eventually managed to recall a few important instructions, and glue them together so that they made sense in his brain. At first it had been virtually impossible to remember them, especially since whenever Sebastian spoke nowadays his voice was reduced to an embarrassed mumble, and Jim frequently had to pester him to get him to speak up. But whilst it was an incredibly annoying habit, he couldn't fault the set of skills Sebastian had been taught during his scout meetings, especially now that as a result he knew how to tie his shoelaces. Really he probably should have said thank you, not that he cared much for manners.

It took three attempts in total, but by the time Mr Perry emerged from his heated telephone call Jim was already sporting his coat and shoes, and stood by the front door ready to leave. Each attempt the stern woman had been observing him closely, but he had kept going nevertheless in order to prove that he didn’t need any help. And right now he had to admit that he was feeling rather proud of himself for exceeding her expectations.

“Looking good, buddy,” The older man commented thoughtlessly, reaching out to pat the boy reassuringly on the shoulder.

The glare from Jim was enough to signal for him to stop, and gingerly he removed his hand from his shoulder before he ended up accidentally frustratedly Jim even more than he already was.

“Shall we go before it starts raining?” Mrs Perry suggested quickly, eager to diffuse the tension in the air with her all too familiar, strained smile.

Thinking nothing of it, Jim hopped carelessly down the front steps of the house, striding cockily towards the car whilst Mr Perry fumbled around for the keys behind him, accompanied by his still-worrisome wife. The weather was bitter, but not-overly cold for a January afternoon. The trees surrounding the house were all bare, highlighting their crooked branches and withered trunks, whilst a thin layer of frost had settled upon the window panes of the car, making it impossible to see inside. Jim glanced back to check if anybody was watching, but to his delight both adults were currently bickering over who was responsible for losing the car keys, which he took to mean that the coast was clear. He cautiously approached the car, sticking out his left index finger and carefully smearing it across the glass, knowing that if he was caught he’d be in big trouble for creating such a mess. But as he eventually stepped back and lowered his hand Jim couldn’t help to smile at himself at his meagre accomplishment: a large, very wonky smiley face, which looked almost as if it was grinning back at him. He turned back to see if either Mrs Perry or her husband had noticed, secretly hoping that they had, only to realise that both adults had disappeared back inside the house, still arguing about the useless set of car keys. Despite their promises he still didn't like them, with their stupidly-posh house and their failed attempts to treat him the same as if he was their son. But he wasn't their son. He wasn't a Perry, and he wanted to go home, back to his _real_ house.

In-fact the only person, or creature, watching appeared to be Marigold, who was sat in-front of the living room window, eyeing Jim with an increasingly-suspicious gaze. Jim stared at her irritably for a few moments, only to realise that in her mouth she was still holding on to something white - one of the pieces of string from the ball he had given her. Typical. He moved forward to confront the beast, however before he had a chance to the spoilt, fat cat had already jumped down from the windowsill and strolled away with her tail poised smugly in the air, almost as if she realised that she was winning at their little game. And Jim was left with the firm belief that cats were rubbish animals after all.


	13. Escaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim’s first night comes to a tumultuous end. After a disorderly dinnertime he forms an unlikely alliance with one of the house’s smallest residents, and decides that enough is enough.

Mrs Perry’s idea of independence was that Jim should be able to run a bath for himself that evening without any help from an adult.

After dinner he was instructed upstairs, where he was made to collect his pyjamas and wash bag from his suitcase before heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed. There had been a small dispute beforehand, in which Jim had argued that it wasn’t fair that he had to go to bed at such an early time since it wasn’t his usual routine, however it was virtually impossible for a stubborn ten-year-old to compete against two grown adults, and in the end he had inevitably come out on the losing side once Mrs Perry’s husband had joined in to side with his wife. So, despite his reluctance, once the shouting match had dissipated the raven-haired boy trailed upstairs and into the bathroom, still dragging his feet sulkily across the carpet in protest.

The more time Jim spent with the Perry’s, the more he realised how much he hated them. For starters neither Mrs Perry or her husband were at-all interesting people. They weren’t like Kirstie and Brian, who shared Jim’s fascination for all things maths-related; all Charles Perry ever spoke about was his stupid work, which it turned out was accounting, whereas his wife had an annoying habit of bossing Jim around left, right and centre, whether he was refusing to eat his vegetables, or protesting that he wanted to go home to his own house.

Dinner was a complete train wreck, all because Mrs Perry had served up a meal that Jim refused to eat. As it turned out the older man prided himself on supposed ‘healthy eating’ to keep himself in shape, which explained why the cupboards were all stocked with oddly-shaped vegetables and different types of fish and nuts, and why there was a lack of any canned foods or takeaway chips that Jim would normally indulge in. As a result of the disappointing cupboard contents Jim was immediately disheartened upon sitting down at the table and being presented with a plate of what appeared to be a measly salad, complete with a whole host of toppings and condiments which he had never even seen before.

“What’s that on top?” He asked as soon as the plate was placed in-front of him, eyeing the mountain of green with heavy skepticism.

“It’s called balsamic vinegar, James,” Mrs Perry explained from across the table, a glass of wine raised up to her lips as she prepared to take a sip. The sight alone was enough to make the raven-haired boy frown. Back home wine was only ever served if it was a special occasion, like if someone was getting married or when Kirstie’s uncle had died of pneumonia last April, but here like with most other things the same rules didn’t seem to apply.

“It’s good for you and very tasty, go on... try a bit.”

“It looks like sick,” Jim mused aloud. “I don’t want to eat something that looks like sick, everything’s touching each-other.”

He wasn’t wrong; each piece of lettuce and tomato looked as though they had been piled on top of one another carelessly, contaminating everything on his plate with their different juices and textures. The tomatoes were silky and dripping with extract, whereas the leaves of lettuce had a rugged, uninviting texture to them and were making Jim feel sick just by looking at them. It was evident that Mr and Mrs Perry hadn’t read the entirety of Jim’s notes, which on page two specifically stated that Jim didn’t like his food to be touching. Not only that, but to make matters worse Mr Perry had picked up on the way that the raven-haired boy was pushing his food around his plate and strode over to intervene, accompanied by a gruff, unbearable laugh.

“It won’t kill you, kid, it’s only a salad,” he stated sneeringly, the very sound of his voice making Jim’s skin crawl with disgust and anger. Mr Perry’s accent was noticeably weaker from his wife’s, most likely to appease the clients he worked with by making it easier for them to understand him. Jim wouldn’t have minded so much if it wasn’t for the way the man composed himself - how there was constantly a cocky grin etched across his face, and how he sauntered around the house as if he was the most important person there. Everything about his demeanour was so unpleasant that even Marigold the cat composed herself more elegantly than him, and Jim couldn’t help but wonder whether if he stayed with the family then he might end up accidentally morphing into a carbon copy of the man. He couldn’t think of anything worse.

“Come on, stop playing with your food.”

At first Jim attempted to ignore him, fixating his stare on a particularly uninteresting piece of lettuce. He could hear the older man talking, but over the years he had grown exceptionally good at blocking out other people’s voices so that he didn’t have to listen to what they were saying. He mostly did it at school, ignoring Mrs O’Reilly, his teacher, during each of their lessons so that he could concentrate on more interesting matters such as reading or scribbling out the pages of his English textbook when he got bored. It wasn’t like he was missing out on anything; the information he was taught in school was knowledge that Jim already knew, and he didn’t see any point in having to relearn it when his time could be spent on much more beneficial things like learning about aerodynamics or the surface area of Jupiter. He sometimes blocked out Sebastian’s conversations too, only when the blond was rambling on about boring subjects like rugby tryouts and boasting about how tall he now was, which nowadays was all he seemed to ever speak about.

Jim had become so lost in his own thoughts that he wasn’t even aware that Mr Perry was still talking to him. He navigated his fork around his plate, pushing various different pieces of lettuce out of the way before stabbing at a stray tomato that had fallen from the side of the dish and onto the tabletop. The prongs of the fork immediately pierced the fruit, and after vigorously stabbing at it at least two more times Jim caught the attention of the older woman, who tutted disapproving from the other side of the table and made a face.

“Stop that, James.”

At first he paid no attention to what Mrs Perry had said, continuing to push his food around his plate like he had been doing before. He was furious, not about the arrangement of food on his plate, but at the way that the Perry’s were treating him. They didn’t understand him, not like Sebastian did, or even Kirstie for that matter. They didn’t understand his love for maths and science, how important it was for everything to be arranged neatly in perfect formation, or that he didn’t want to live in their stupid house as a part of their stupid family. Even during their so-called trip to the park Jim hadn’t uttered a single word to either Nancy or Charles in hopes that they would stop trying to initiate unwanted conversation, and as the slowly afternoon progressed his anger was continuing to bubble dangerously close to boiling point. If either Mrs Perry or her stuck-up husband dared to utter another word then Jim had a feeling he might finally snap, a feeling which had been building all day.

“Why are you overreacting? Come on, tell us… what’s the matter?”

It was only when Mr Perry dared to place his ugly, sweaty hand on Jim’s back that the boy emitted a loathsome howl, and dug the sharp ends of the fork right into the back of the man’s skin, wounding him before he even had a chance to process what was happening. Immediately Mr Perry leapt back, bellowing a string of enraged swear words that Jim had never heard of before, and subsequently causing the raven-haired boy to jump in fright. The older man was still yelping in pain by the time Mrs Perry jumped up from her seat to console him, and as the fork clattered onto the marble flooring Jim quickly darted towards the door, scrambling up the staircase and towards the guest bedroom as his chest filled with both fear and the unmistakable feeling of pride. If only Sebastian wasn’t with his stupid extended family, he wondered what the blond might look like if he could see him now.

Before his bath that evening Mrs Perry had approached the ten-year-old at the top of the staircase and promised him that the events of dinner were long forgotten about, and that he was completely forgiven for stabbing Charles. Jim could tell straight-away that her reassurance was nothing more than a performance, and that deep down she was still extremely unhappy with what had unfolded over the dining table, however since he wasn’t being shouted at he didn’t mind whether the woman was angry with him or not. He passed Mrs Perry’s husband on the way to the bathroom too, whose hand was now wrapped in a thick wad of bandages, and with a reddened face still contorted with embarrassment. After entering the bathroom Jim hastily closed the door behind him, and teetered precariously on his tiptoes so that he could bolt the lock to prevent anymore unfortunate encounters from taking place.

The bathroom, just like the rest of the house, was white, with chequered flooring and a large, antique bathtub which sat propped against the wall. Every aspect of the room appeared to have been scrubbed vigorously before Jim’s visit, even the bathtub which was coated in what looked to be squeaky-clean porcelain, complete with gleaming, silver legs at all four sides. There was a shelf for Jim to place all of his belongings onto, and after brushing his teeth he was finally forced to face the mammoth task of running a bath for himself.

He tried to recall how Kirstie usually prepared his bath each night, from the type of bubble bath mixture she used to what temperature she usually set the taps to. Jim liked using bubble bath, simply because the excess of soapy bubbles helped to disguise his skinny frame, and meant that he wasn’t forced to stare down at his figure each time he tried to take a wash. He didn’t like his body, or the sight of his reflection staring back at him whenever he stood in-front of a mirror. Even as he undressed Jim was well-aware of the large mirror on the wall above the sink; it highlighted the outline of his collarbones, the way in which his ribs protruded from his skin and how pale and boyish he was compared to the rest of his peers at school. During PE he was forced to share a changing room with the other boys in his class, who seemed to have no trouble when it came to taking off their clothes and parading their different assets to one another. Jim usually faced the wall when he got undressed, and reserved a spot each lesson at the back of the changing rooms next to the showers where nobody could see him, hoping that by keeping his distance it would make him invisible to the rest of his class. A part of him was jealous that he didn’t look like the other boys, while the other was fearful over what they might say about him; he was used to the offbeat comments about his height or the pitch of his voice, but sometimes some of the louder boys would make snider comments about his sexuality, or ask him invasive questions that even he didn’t know the answer to. The sly digs usually always came whenever Jim was caught staring across the changing room at the other boys without their shirts on, and he would be bombarded with questions about whether or not he had a girlfriend or if he had ever kissed a girl before.

But each time he simply faced the wall and kept quiet, attempting to ignore the almighty flood of dread coursing through his body.

The bubble mixture here was more expensive than the type he used at home, infused with some pure, organic lavender or whatever nonsense it spewed on the bottle. Regardless, Jim unscrewed the lid of the bottle and poured the complete contents into the bathtub, which was already filling with water. He had found the mixture after an extensive search of the bathroom, hidden on the top shelf along with Mr Perry’s razor and shaving cream. In order to reach it Jim had been forced to climb up onto the lid of the toilet seat, and lean forward ever so carefully so that he could attempt to prize it away without accidentally toppling over and hurting himself.

The sound of the running water helped to drown out the arguing downstairs, which had sparked up not long after Jim had locked the bathroom door. By the sound of it it was Charles who currently ruled the roost, barking furiously at his wife who was struggling to get a word in edgeways. His booming roar flooded through each room of the house, accompanied by the slamming of a door which followed not long afterwards. Judging by the noise the argument must have revolved around the events of dinnertime, but by the time the bickering fizzled out Jim’s bath was already full, and he carefully shut off the taps before beginning to strip off his clothes and dump them on the floor below.

The water was colder than he expected it to be, most likely because he had forgotten to adjust the hot tap whilst the bath was still running. The bubbles were foamy and came up to Jim’s chest as he sat down, tickling the edge of his skin and forcing him to try and suppress a gasp of surprise. In hindsight using the entire bottle probably wasn’t a good idea; not only were the bubbles beginning to spill over the edge of the bath, but they made it impossible to navigate where anything was. After a minute or so Jim finally submerged himself underneath the water, allowing the excess of frothy bubble mixture to engulf his tiny frame as they rose up to his chin and jawline, brushing against him ever so tenderly. Now that he was so close to the bubbles Jim could finally smell the lavender, which burnt through his nostrils and caused him to sneeze abruptly. Once he had finished wiping his nose with the back of his hand he couldn’t help but smile weakly, lifting his feet up from underneath the water and wiggling his toes so that he could admire them.

He had survived his first turbulent day with the Perry’s, yet despite the achievement he couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong.

Jim recognised the feeling as being the same as when he often forgot to take his medication, mixed in with the fact that he had barely eaten all day and his stomach was beginning to ache. All he had endured were a couple of measly egg and cress sandwiches for lunch, but even they had left much to be desired. His head felt fuzzy, not because he was tired, but because so many thoughts were racing though his mind and he was struggling to keep up. The ten-year-old didn’t like it when his brain worked on overdrive; Kirstie sometimes assured him that it was only because he was ‘ _too clever for his own good_ ’, but the pills had been prescribed specifically to try and stop the manifestation of bad thoughts such as these, and even his doctor didn’t seem to agree that Jim’s intelligence was merely to blame. It was his depression, or at least that was the word the doctor tended to use the most during his appointments.

The bottle was poking out of Jim’s wash bag on the sink, disguised innocently amongst his toothbrush and flannel. They were his usual blue tablets, with instructions on the side regarding how many he should take as well as how often, and the address of Jim’s doctor’s surgery in case there was a problem and he needed to get in touch. The sight alone was enough to make Jim scowl. If he had a choice in the matter then he’d never have to take them, but unfortunately that wasn’t his decision to make. It was the decision of stupid adults who didn’t know anything about him or his life.

In total it took Jim almost two hours to properly wash himself that evening, to the point where even the mountain of bubbles had begun to gradually dissipate over time.

Even on normal days Jim was rigorous when it came to washing himself, but it never took nearly as long as it was taking him that night. Usually it would take around an hour of scrubbing until he was finally satisfied enough to climb out of the bathtub, or when the water was cold and the soap dispenser had completely run out. Jim considered cleanliness to be his top priority, accompanied by the desire to thrive in each of his classes so that he could boast about how clever he was to everybody. He brushed his teeth three times a day, used soap to clean every inch of his body, even behind his ears, and always changed into a fresh pair of underwear each morning before school. Kirstie had expressed on multiple occasions that Jim’s hygiene habits were borderline obsessive, and that if they worsened any further then she’d have no choice but to contact his therapist, but he didn’t see why they were such a big issue. He was free of germs, and that was the most important part, not whether his behaviour concerned people or not.

But in the process of washing himself that evening he had become increasing distracted by the noises spiralling both inside of his head and from downstairs where Mr and Mrs Perry’s arguing had spiked once more. The combination of both was draining to say the least, not to mention that Mr Perry seemed to have no regard for the remainder of the household and was currently stomping along the hallway in a fit of rage, still complaining about his wounded hand while his wife attempted to console him. Jim couldn’t help but wonder whether the businessman acted like this on a day to day basis, or whether the incident over dinner had simply infuriated him beyond his control. Jim secretly hoped it was the latter; back in the correctional home some of the other children had a tendency to develop anger issues, and would spend most days kicking at the doors and walls in bursts of anger, or fighting each-other over who got control of the television remote. A lot of the other children there suffered from worse problems than anger; some of the older ones didn’t eat, whereas others claimed that they were so sad that they wanted to hurt themselves when nobody could stop them. The last time Jim visited home he had been six, and despite his hazy memory he remembered the place well enough to know that he never wanted to go back there. He sometimes saw some of the other children at school, or loitering around the corner shop at the weekends to spend their pocket money, but by now the majority of them had already left Dublin, either that or they were in police custody after getting into trouble with the law.

Neither the older man or woman had noticed his absence, or even bothered to check on him to make sure he was alright. The lack of concern was satisfying to Jim, who couldn’t think of anything worse than being subjected to one of Mrs Perry’s sympathetic lectures. After placing down the bar of soap he had used to wash himself with he considered getting out of the bath and drying himself, however a sudden impulse held him back. It was similar to the impulses he had experienced before, like the ones telling him to bash his head against a wall or stick his hand in a pot of boiling water while nobody was looking, the only difference being that this time it was stronger.

The bubbles had completely disappeared, and Jim was left with nothing more than a pool of murky, soap-filled water bobbing below his waist. The water itself was uninviting to say the least, unpleasant too, but as he lounged back against the porcelain tub Jim was filled with an unexplainable sense of calmness. It was almost as if the water was drawing him in, anchoring him down with no chance of escape. First he submerged his chest, then his neck, and then finally his head, not stopping to even consider what he might be doing or the consequences of what would follow.

Almost immediately he was greeted by the sharp gush of water flooding through his nostrils, and in a desperate effort to prevent himself from lurching back up to the surface Jim used his hands to pinch his nose and cover his mouth. The sudden lack of air was exceedingly painful, accompanied by the burning sensation from where the water was wrapping itself tightly around his tiny frame, striking his lungs like a venomous viper and draining all colour from his skin. The ten-year-old’s legs kicked and his body writhed the longer he held his breath for, but his desperate desire for air was weighed down with the even-stronger impulse to seriously hurt himself.

The sole reason for wanting to kill himself was because Mr Perry was angry at him. He wanted to make the man feel guilty for what he had done, for shouting at him and causing him to drown himself. He wanted Mrs Perry to cry once she discovered his mangled body in the bathtub, not only that but he also wanted her to have to relay the terrible news to his social worker, who he hoped would also be forced to carry the burden of what she had done by organising the visit. Jim had never done anything like this before; sometimes when he was home alone he would hurt himself while the older couple were away delivering lectures up at the university, a bad habit which he had become all too good at keeping a secret, so much so that when they returned home each evening they always failed to notice that the letter opener was missing from the kitchen cupboard and that Jim was being oddly secretive.

And consequently the raven-haired boy was beginning to panic, from the agonising sensation in his lungs to the sheer realisation of what he was doing. He couldn’t remember how long he had been under the water for, all he knew was that he could barely feel his hands or feet anymore, and that as time passed his head was beginning to grow increasingly foggy. It wasn’t the same type of fogginess he sometimes felt when he was tired, in contrast it felt as though his brain and all of the connecting parts were beginning to shut down, like a computer where its plugs had all been detached. Without thinking Jim shot out from underneath the water, gasping for breath as a huge wave of water toppled over the side of the porcelain tub, landing onto the tiled flooring with a thunderous splash. Within seconds he was already hunched over the side of the bathtub, heaving strenuously for breath as he coughed and spluttered, desperately trying to rid his body of any water he might have accidentally ingested.

The pain in his lungs had stopped, however the feeling of numbness in his hands was still prevalent, and felt almost like somebody had glued each and every one of his joints together to prevent them from moving. Upon raising his hands to his face Jim realised with a pang of horror that his skin was an unhealthy shade of blue, and no matter how hard he tried it was virtually impossible to flex either his fingers or thumb. He was more concerned by the colour of his hand rather than the inability to move it, and as he stood up it quickly became clear that his entire body was completely the same. Jim had never seen a corpse before in his life, not human anyway, but he had a feeling that his reflection was close to what one might look like.

Jim ungracefully clambered out from the bath, draining the now-stone cold water before proceeding to reach for the towel that had been strewn across the ground. Though the sensation was gradually beginning to return to his hands, Jim’s coordination was still jittery as he attempted to tug on his vest top and pyjama shorts, fumbling around with the strings of his shorts before eventually giving up and shamefully letting go. He was quiet as he went about dressing himself, as were Mr and Mrs Perry who had seemingly stopped arguing for the first time all night. He wondered whether or not they had heard any of the commotion upstairs, but judging by the sound of the television from the living room he guessed otherwise.

For the following five minutes Jim seated himself firmly on the edge of the bathtub, listening as the water swirled and gurgled around the plughole, all while his pale legs dangled beneath him. He should have packed his dressing gown with him, at least that way he wouldn’t be so cold, but for now the towel he had fastened around his shoulders was sufficient enough and was doing a good enough job of stopping him from shivering. Jim’s stare was fixated mainly on the mirror, where in the glass he could clearly see his reflection; he was most interested in his face, where his cheeks were blotched and puffy, and his lips displayed a pale blue tinge to them, undoubtably from where his head had been forced underwater for so long. His hair, which Jim normally took pride in, was wet and tangled, and would require a heavy amount of drying and combing before he would finally be satisfied. The ten-year-old sniffed scornfully at the sight of his face in the mirror, more specifically at what he had done to himself. He felt angry for failing, for not going through with the intended plan. Now Mr and Mrs Perry had no reason to feel guilty about the way they had treated him, and he was stuck in a house with a family whom he despised. He wasn’t used to failure, or any sense of the word ‘losing’, and as he sat arched over on the edge of the bathtub Jim was left with the bittersweet realisation that he had lost for the first time in his life, and it didn’t feel very nice at all.

By the time the plughole finished draining the final stray droplets of water, the raven-haired boy had already stood up, and was preparing to sneak out of the bathroom until it dawned on him that the television downstairs was no longer playing it’s usual, repetitive nonsense. And as if by clockwork, the strange silence from the living room was broken by a series of footsteps ascending up the staircase.

Then, a knock.

“James? Is everything alright?”

A string of hesitation followed, and admittedly Jim was surprised when the strained, sickly-sweet voice of Mrs Perry didn’t pester him with another question. However as he cast his attention to the door it dawned on him that a puddle of water had trickled out from underneath the gap, alerting the woman outside that something was wrong. She didn’t say anything, but the shuffling of feet and occasional clicking of teeth meant that she was still definitely there, just waiting for any sign that Jim was okay. But instead of saying anything Jim decided to tantalise the poor woman even further by remaining completely silent, revelling in the knowledge that as time passed she was becoming more and more worried. Even when he finally opened the door Jim didn’t dare to look Mrs Perry in the eye. He didn’t even catch the dumbfounded expression on her face as he stormed past her and across the hallway, which left her resembling somebody who had seen a ghost. Before the older woman could even utter a single word he had slammed the bedroom door behind him and sunk down onto the mattress, still sopping wet with the remains of his own stupid blunder and filled with a deep, unshakable sense of loathing.

Bedtime was virtually a repeat of dinnertime, only this time it was Mrs Perry who bore the brunt of Jim’s misbehaviour rather than her husband. Since the incident at bath time the older woman was still trying to piece together what might had happened, however Jim wasn’t making her confusion any easier. When she entered to turn his lights off as promised at eight o’ clock he was still adamant that it was far too early to sleep, and she had been forced to chase the boy around the guest bedroom while he shrieked and laughed with glee, running circles around the bed as she tried and failed to maintain order.

In the end Jim was left to put himself to bed, and as Mrs Perry departed downstairs she wore a heavy face like thunder. If he was in his own home then Jim would have relished the peace and quiet, but here it felt eerie, and as he laid on top of his bedsheets staring at the ceiling he couldn’t help but feel unsettled. He tried to ease his mind by reading one of the books he had brought along with him, but as he aimlessly flipped through the pages he found himself becoming increasingly distracted by every single noise from outside on the street, from the sound of revving car engines to something so simple as a dog barking. Each time he was filled with an unexplainable wave of dread, and would freeze momentarily at the sentence he was reading before eventually taking a deep breath and continuing once his heart rate was back to its usual, slow rhythm.

By midnight both Mr and Mrs Perry had already resigned to bed, after spending five minutes lingering outside of the guest bedroom door and conversing in hushed whispers. Before leaving Mrs Perry had cracked open the door ever so slightly to check on him, however Jim was quick to hide his book and close his eyes, pretending to be fast asleep so that she would leave him alone. Soon enough the lights of the house had all been switched off, and for the first time all day the hectic house was still. Jim only dared to reopen his eyes when he was certain that both adults were fast asleep, and reluctantly he crawled under the duvet covers of his bed, folding over the corner of his book page so that he wouldn’t lose his spot before placing it to one side and curling up into a protective ball. There was no point in him reading when he couldn’t concentrate, so as much as he didn’t want to he was forced to give in and rest, especially since tomorrow would be yet another long day.

Despite his exhaustion, James didn’t sleep a wink that night, and it was nearing three in the morning when the first muffled noises sounded from the guest bedroom. Unlike earlier they weren’t coming from outside on the street, but instead they were coming from underneath the ten-year-old’s bedsheets, where every so often a series of short, shaky breaths or sobs would cut through the tense air shrouding the room.

Jim’s hatred of crying spanned further than most other people’s did; it had always been that way, ever since he could first remember. There were many reasons as to why he hated the act of crying, and not just because it stung his eyes and made his cheeks sore. At school he tried to avoid it as much as possible, even when the other boys in his class stole his pencil case or threw his tie onto the train-tracks and ordered for him to go and get it. Often Jim would wait until he was in the safety of his own bedroom before allowing himself to let go, and even then he felt an immediate wave of shame the very moment the tear droplets hit his skin. Boys didn’t cry, only babies and cowards did, and frankly he wasn’t either of those. He worried of what the other boys might think if they ever saw him with tear-stained cheeks, the teasing he’d suffer in the playground or the cruel nicknames he’d undoubtedly earn, and he had enough of those already. In-fact ever since his tenth birthday Jim had become a professional at bottling up his emotions whenever other people were nearby, and while it wasn’t the healthiest of habits it meant that nowadays he was rarely subjected to tedious, often invasive, questions from his therapist, the school nurse, or Sebastian.

But tonight for some reason Jim couldn’t get the tears to stop. They streamed down his cheeks in hot, fat beads, staining the skin on his face and causing his cheeks and jaw to ache. It wasn’t the pain that was making him cry, more-so the fact that he was scared. He was alone in a large bed that wasn’t his own, surrounded by a multitude of unfamiliar noises which sounded as though they belonged in a book of Grimm Fairy Tales. On multiple occasions Jim could have sworn that he had heard an owl or a fox, and had concealed himself anxiously underneath the bedsheets until he was certain that it was merely his mind playing tricks on him. He couldn’t decipher how to turn on the lamp, or even locate the light-switch, and all he could do was lie in the middle of the pitch-black room whilst his thoughts consumed him, and hope that soon enough morning would arrive so that he wouldn’t have to worry any longer. He missed his bedroom greatly, the stacks of familiar books and toys, even the musty scent of his bedsheets. In his own bedroom he knew where everything was, and he had grown familiar to each of the odd noises on the road outside, from the drunks to the occasional street-fight. But they were comforting, unlike the booming car engines here that caused him to jump in fright whenever they sounded.

Tentatively he clambered out of bed, using the back of his hand to wipe away any wet residue from his face as he crept towards the door. Twisting the handle was easy enough, and after a minute of careful observation Jim decided that the coast was clear, and proceeded to sneak out of his bedroom and into the dimly-lit hallway outside. He could just about make out where he was going, only because of the glow from the lamps outside beaming in through the glass, creating a sinister pattern of shadows and specs of light across the walls and floor. The feeling of carpet rubbing against his toes was enough to ground Jim, who sniffed determinedly as the final stray tears dribbled down his cheeks, and he eagerly wiped them away.

The house seemed even bigger at night, which Jim didn’t think was even possible. After slowly descending the staircase he paced through the maze of rooms downstairs, trailing his fingers along the paintwork on the walls without caring whether or not he left behind any marks. He only stopped upon reaching the kitchen, where he was sidetracked by a forceful rumble from his stomach. He was still hungry from having missed out on dinner, and after some initial deliberation Jim finally decided to enter, this time attempting to be extra quiet as he flicked on the light switch and eased himself up onto one of the pristine counters so that he could reach the cupboards. As he discovered to his delight, each cupboard was ladened with goods that had previously been hidden from him, from boxes of cereal to even cans of different-flavoured soup. Soup would have made too much noise to cook, besides Jim didn’t know how to use the stove, so in the end he decided upon a box of cereal to satisfy his appetite. The raven-haired boy hopped down from the counter cereal-in-tow, and waited until he was seated cross-legged on the tiled floor before digging his hand inside and retrieving a handful.

The cardboard box rustled slightly as he did so, however Jim was more concerned by the sudden noise that sparked across the room as soon as he removed his hand from the plastic packaging. His heart leapt immediately in his chest at the realisation that either Mr or Mrs Perry might have caught him, and it was only when he caught sight of a fluffy white tail that he exhaled deeply and managed a strained sigh of relief.

“You aren’t going to tell on me, are you?”

The Persian cat meowed calmly in response, sauntering over towards him as she came to examine what Jim was doing. She didn’t appear to be too disapproving, which Jim took to be a good thing, and after finishing his mouthful of food he slowly outstretched a hand to attempt to pet the creature. At first Marigold retracted, her tail flicking furiously from side to side, and it was only when Jim petted her again that she finally calmed down and gave in to his gesture of affection. She slowly came to curl up on his lap as he continued petting her, emitting melodic purrs each time he tickled underneath her chin or behind her ears. As time passed Marigold gradually began to let her guard down, to the point where Jim was allowed to pet her as much as he wanted, and even he couldn’t deny that the way in which the cat brushed up against his palm was surprisingly-therapeutic, and he was beginning to develop a soft spot for her.

“You don’t get many pets, d’you?”

As he continued his tour of the house Jim was accompanied by his newfound furry companion, who strode confidently alongside him, her tail poised high up in the air as she occasionally brushed up against his leg. Every now and again he would feed her a piece of cereal to stop her from meowing, which the spoilt cat appeared to enjoy well enough, and upon reaching the end of the hallway Jim dusted the remaining crumbs from his hands before cautiously prizing the telephone from its place on the wall.

All he had to do was remember the right phone number.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Kirstie’s voice sounded hazy and confused as she answered the telephone call, not like her usual bubbly self. Jim assumed it was because it was almost four in the morning, which would be enough to disorientate anybody, let alone a woman who by the sounds of it had only just woken up. Nevertheless, Jim couldn’t help but smile as he toyed with the phone cord in his hands, relieved by the very sound of the warm voice filling his ears. He had to be careful not to disturb the sleeping Perry’s upstairs, so he waited carefully for a few seconds before eventually daring to answer. 

“I want to come home.”

“James? Is that you?”

Kirstie’s tone of voice changed almost immediately after hearing who was on the other end of the line, and her confusion quickly morphed into apparent concern. The ten-year-old wouldn’t be calling her unless something was deeply wrong, and as he moved his head in closely Jim could hear her pacing up and down the bedroom, with Brian’s heavy snores accompanying her in the background.

“What are you doing awake so early? Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“I told you, I want to come home.”

As if almost by magic, the footsteps stopped as quickly as they had begun, and Kirstie emitted a long, audible sigh from the other end of the telephone.

“I thought we agreed that it was just for two days… Do the Perry’s know you’re making this call?” She asked sternly, to which Jim scowled adamantly in protest, forgetting that she couldn’t see his face.

“That doesn’t matter,” he retorted gruffly.

Even Marigold was now fully-invested in the phone conversation, and was sat upright whilst she stared curiously at Jim, determined to find out what was going on. She eventually stood up once more and began to circle around his legs, meowing earnestly for Jim’s attention, however he didn’t give it to her. He was far more transfixed on Kirstie’s tired, disapproving tuts from the other end of the line.

“James,” the older woman spoke in a strict tone. “You know you can’t sneak out of bed in the middle of the night just because you want to come home.”

“Does that mean you aren’t coming to get me?” Jim questioned in disbelief.

For a moment there came no reply, until eventually Kirstie exhaled a prolonged, guilt-ridden sigh.

“No, Einstein,” she explained finally.

“But-"

“It’s four o’clock in the morning… Look, if you’d like me to pick you up one hour earlier then I’m sure I can arrange something, but for now you need to go back to bed, okay? I’m sure Mrs Perry won’t be very happy if she finds you wandering around the house.”

Jim pulled a face of discontent.

“She’s already angry at me, it won’t make a difference.”

“How come?” asked Kirstie.

“For stabbing her husband.”

There was another pause of silence, only this time it was interrupted by the sound of Marigold meowing by Jim’s feet, becoming clearly agitated at how long the conversation was taking. When it became clear that Kirstie wasn’t going to say anything helpful Jim emitted an enraged huff, and squeezed the telephone tighter in his grip, turning the tips of his knuckles white in the dim light of the hallway.

“I hate you. If you weren’t so horrible then you would come and get me… but you’re fat and stupid and all you ever do is make things worse!”

After finishing his sentence Jim’s voice trailed off uncomfortably, and while the older woman fell into a stunned silence he cleared his throat and quickly attempted to apologise for his sudden outburst.

“…I didn’t mean what I said.”

Kirstie sighed gently.

“I know you didn’t.”

“So you aren’t angry at me?” Jim asked tentatively.

“I wouldn’t go that far, James,” she corrected him lowly. “I’d be a lot happier if you behaved yourself and went to bed, but all things considered…no, I’m not angry at you. You know I care about you.”

For a second it sounded as though Kirstie had more to say, however her sentence cut off abruptly before she had a chance to speak whatever was on her mind, and once more her tone became quizzical.

“Your voice sounds different, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Hm?” Jim mumbled, conscious that a ray of warm light was beginning to seep in through the windows, meaning that dawn was fast approaching. And if dawn was close-by then that meant it wouldn’t be long at all until the older couple upstairs would be waking up, so he didn’t have much time left.

“Your voice,” Kirstie continued. “You just sound… nevermind.”

The woman laughed gently, though it was evidently forced and still thick with worry.

“Now, you promise me you won’t do anything stupid?”

“I don’t believe in promises.”

“Silly me, I’d forgotten,” Kirstie sighed softly in agreement, her voice wavering ever so slightly as if she was trying to suppress a smile from the other end of the line. “Now, off to bed. I’ll come to pick you up after lunchtime so that we can go to the planetarium together. How does that sound?”

“Fine.”

“Good boy, I’ll see you soon.”

And with that, the phone went dead.

After the long phone call with Kirstie, the sudden silence after placing down the telephone felt almost unnerving, and Jim had to remind himself that he was on the other side of Dublin rather than Grosvenor Street. Thankfully the empty air quickly filled with the noise of birdsong, and soon enough the entire hallway was flooded with a pale orange light as early morning approached. The raven-haired boy squinted in the bright light before looking down to where the fluffy Persian cat was sat skeptically to his feet, offering her a raised eyebrow.

“Well?”

The cat meowed dubiously.

“I won’t be long, stay here.”

Like he had done so earlier, Jim crept cautiously back up the staircase towards the upper floor, leaving Marigold to entertain herself downstairs with the cardboard cereal box. This time he had to be a lot more careful considering there was a chance that either Nancy or Charles Perry might be awake, and upon reaching the guest bedroom Jim grappled with the door handle before pushing it open and hastily slipping through the gap in the door. Once inside he began to strip carelessly, bundling his pyjamas into his suitcase along with his books and Rubik’s cube before dressing into his hoodie and trainers which were scattered around the carpet. He wasn’t supposed to wear trainers inside of the house after the strict instructions he had received from Mrs Perry, but for all he knew she was still asleep and he wouldn’t be staying for long so it hardly mattered. Jim was knowledgable when it came to sneaking around the house due to his countless experiences of doing just that with Sebastian whenever the blond came to sleep over, and over the years Sebastian’s vast collection of spy books had come in extremely handy.

Once his belongings had been gathered and the suitcase was full, Jim dragged himself down the flight of stairs, tugging his suitcase along behind him as it bounced and wobbled on every step. It landed with a heavy thud at the bottom of the stairs when the raven-haired-boy momentarily lost control, and Jim could’ve sworn that he’d heard movement from the Perry’s bedroom upstairs, but thankfully nobody appeared to be awake and he was able to quickly grab hold of the handle once more. He pulled his suitcase over to where Marigold was still waiting for him by the door, and was pleased to see that the fluffy cat was delighted by his return. Maybe he had been too quick to brand her as an enemy after all. Her posture straightened as he walked over, and crouched down so that he could pet her one final time. Marigold melted into his touch instantly, brushing her well-groomed fur against the back of his hand as she purred soothingly in content. Upon pulling away again Jim was forced to dust the stray hairs from his hoodie, all whilst wearing a triumphant grin on his lips, one that was filled with a not-so-subtle hint of mischief.

As an orange glow filled the room, the different elements of the hallway were once again coming into light. As he cast one last look around the room he took time to admire it all in detail, from the photographs lining the walls to the stacks of books which looked as though they’d never been read, from the likes of Charles Dickens and Emily Bronte to the novels which Mrs Perry appeared to have published herself. The majority of them were pathetic excuses at self-help books which meant they couldn’t have been that good, but before he had time to examine the bookshelf more closely, the first muffled footsteps sounded from upstairs.

Without thinking Jim pocketed the first book he laid eyes upon, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, making sure he had ahold of his suitcase before cautiously wheeling it towards the front-door. He was forced to stand on his tiptoes to unbolt each of the heavy locks, however one by one they soon slid open, and as Jim opened the door he was greeted immediately by an even brighter flood of light, as well as the familiar birdsong which was now clearer than ever.

He stepped forward to leave, before the feeling of something fluffy brushing against his trouser leg stopped him.

Marigold was glaring at him, almost as if she had been betrayed.  
  
“Fine, alright, just as long as you promise not to tell anybody,” Jim whispered, crouching down and ushering the spoilt cat out of the house. His gaze trailed after her as she fled, made noticeable by the distinctive jingle of her collar, which bounced up and down as she scampered across the road and over the neighbour’s wall until finally she was out of sight. Jim felt almost sad having to say goodbye to his newfound friend, but at least now she would be able to have her own independence, something he was almost jealous of himself. Then again, he wasn’t the one who had spent years cooped up in the Perry’s house.

But once the ball of white fluff had completely disappeared, Jim shook away any lingering feelings of gloom and reminded himself of the urgency of what he was doing in the first place. He wasn’t entirely sure how to get to the other side of Dublin on his own, but he had stolen a few notes worth of cash from the kitchen drawer before leaving, an amount which would be sufficient enough to pay for a bus ticket. With a handful of money safely stashed inside of his hoodie pocket Jim slowly crept from the house, waiting until he was on the front step before swiftly swinging the door shut behind him. It closed with a delicate click, and before he knew it he was at last free of the horrible Perry family, and completely alone.

He remembered the bus stop from the drive back from the park the previous day, opposite from the church and the launderette. The only reason why he remembered it so clearly was because unlike the bus stop at home it was pristine, without a single mark of graffiti or broken glass from the neighbourhood thugs. It was only a short walk, across the road and up a small hill where Jim struggled to lift his suitcase. On his way he tried to search for Marigold however he had no luck; at every bush rustle or snapped twig he would dart his head around, only to realise that it was a mischievous crow or pigeon causing the damage, which must have meant that the Persian cat was already long-gone. There were three people when he arrived - an old man, a younger woman in a waitress’ uniform, and her toddler who was slumped in its pushchair fast asleep.

Jim gingerly came to join them, shuffling towards the end of the bus stop so that he could stand beside the man with a grey beard and walking stick. He kept his suitcase safely by his side, clutching tightly to the handle to prevent anybody from stealing it, all whilst trying to ignore the old man’s bewildered stare.

“Are you lost, little man?”

Instead of answering, Jim kept his stare fixated firmly on the road, glaring so intently at the tarmac that he could feel his gaze becoming dizzy. The old man’s ragged coat was emitting a putrid stench - a mix of cigarettes and alcohol - and as the ten-year-old stood rooted to the spot he was forced to bite his tongue in order to suppress an unpleasant reaction to the smell.

It had begun to rain again, like it had been doing on and off since the start of the year. Winter was always especially harsh, and without a coat Jim had no choice but to stand in the sudden onslaught of rain in nothing but his hoodie, sniffing scornfully as the sharp droplets of rain struck against his face and clothing, dampening the fabric and soaking through his hair. The woman with the toddler appeared to be shielding both herself and her young child with an umbrella she had retrieved from her pocket, all while the old man didn’t even appear to realise that it was raining, which led Jim to wonder whether or not he was drunk. It would make sense, considering his foul-smelling clothes and beard.

The bus was green and blue, with bright lights which lit up the entirety of the puddle-soaked street as it approached. Jim wasn’t sure how buses worked, so he was rather glad when the young woman next to him stuck out her hand, and the bus came to a steady stop outside of the bus shelter. He could tell by the look on the woman’s face that she was eager to get on quickly, so after waiting impatiently for her to pay for a ticket he finally clambered on after her, brandishing the money from his pocket in an attempt to seem like he knew what he was doing.

At first Jim wondered why the bus-driver, a balding, middle-aged man with a wiry beard, was chuckling, until he caught sight of the money he had displayed in his outstretched palm. The rain had somehow managed to flood the material of his hoodie, completely drenching the contents of his pocket including the book he had stolen and the unfortunate pile of cash which had been reduced to a pile of soggy mush. As a result the notes were now dripping wet, and Jim was uncomfortably-aware that he was holding up the busload of irritable passengers.

“How old are you?” The bus-driver asked quizzically, to which Jim lied through his teeth.

“Almost eleven.”

The driver’s gaze flickered warily between the pile of mushy notes and the soaking-wet boy, and after a sigh of defeat he eventually ushered Jim onto the bus before he could speak again.

“If you pick a seat and don’t make any noise then you can stay. Otherwise you’re off and I’m calling the police.”

Jim didn’t know whether to thank the man or not, so ultimately he decided to stay silent as he trailed groggily through the bus, deciding to stop at the back where there were the least number of people. The majority of passengers were either fast asleep or busy minding their own business, so as the engine started and the bus pulled away from the curb Jim decided to distract himself by turning his attention to the window. It was hard to see clearly now that the glass panes were covered by an excess of water and mist, but as the bus gained speed Jim was able to detect the passing lights of the city, contrasting vibrantly against the otherwise-miserable morning. Each time a flashing light passed he allowed himself to smile faintly in reassurance, and as the bus diverted onto the motorway he tore his gaze away from the window and slumped back against his seat. He hadn’t planned on sleeping, but after an excruciatingly-long night without sleep his eyelids were beginning to grow heavy, and after a few moments Jim was forced to let his guard down and finally succumb to the urge.


	14. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the new school term starts, Sebastian is determined to find out what's wrong with Jim. Meanwhile, Jim makes a discovery of his own.

Sebastian arrived back to school on the second day of the new term. He had spent an extra day in Dundalk because his great-aunt had developed a chest-cough over the new year, and his father had decided against leaving her by herself in-case things got any worse. Sebastian usually spent Christmas with his great-aunt, simply because she was getting old and each of her children were worried that she might drop-dead at any given moment. This year he had been forced to share a house with his aunt, uncle, and their own children for two weeks, all while sleeping on a makeshift mattress in the living room. They were a large family, not that Sebastian and his father were viewed very fondly. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Ever since the divorce the remainder of Sebastian’s family had grown noticeably cold around his father, aside from Christmas where they were forced to smile at one-another and make small-talk around the table whilst Sebastian’s uncle carved the turkey for lunch. Sebastian wondered whether or not his great-aunt’s Catholicism had anything to do with the discreet side-glances and whispers behind closed doors, but he was always too wary to ask her himself. The ancient woman was known for her iron fist and impatient approach when it came to dealing with children, so for the remainder of the holiday Sebastian had tried to stay clear of his great-aunt as much as possible, spending most days in the garden attempting to entertain himself with the deflated football he had found in the shed.

He returned to school on Tuesday morning in good spirits, parking his bike in the bike shed before making his way over to the end of the playground so that he could line up with the rest of his class. Sebastian was the tallest now, narrowly beating Sean who sat on the table next to him by just over an inch. Over Christmas he had experienced yet another growth spurt, meaning his school trousers were now far too short for him, and the ends were beginning to brush annoyingly against his ankles whenever he sat down. It was slightly embarrassing having to wear trousers that didn’t fit, yet there was something empowering about being taller. Nowadays people tended to mistake Sebastian for being older than he actually was due to his lanky frame, and instead of correcting them he used it to his advantage, especially when it came to browsing the restricted magazines on the top shelf of the corner shop. He had even purchased one a few weeks ago and hidden it under his pillow while his father was still at work. The cover displayed various different women with very little clothing on, either that or they were wearing nothing at all. Sebastian hadn’t been brave enough to use the magazine very often, but he couldn’t deny that whenever he looked at the cover he was filled with an unexplainable wave of confusion, and was forced to quickly hide it again before his father arrived home from work.

The bell rung and one by one each of the boys trailed inside to their different classrooms, however as he did a quick sweep of the playground Sebastian was disappointed to find that Jim was nowhere to be seen. His green bike wasn’t propped up in the bike shed, nor could he see a tuft of raven-coloured hair poking out of the line for Mrs O’Reilly’s class. Since the new school year Jim had been spending increasingly more time off school, but it was odd for him not to return after the Christmas holidays, especially when Sebastian hadn’t seen him for two weeks. Unable to shake away his bitter resentment, the blond traipsed jealously inside with the rest of his class, his mind still racing with where Jim might be and why whatever he was doing was seemingly more important than coming into school.

He dropped his coat and backpack off in the cloakroom before eventually entering the classroom, where he was given the task of collecting in everybody’s homework and handing it to Miss Trevors at her desk. She thanked him with a warm smile and an affirming nod, and Sebastian returned to his seat with a noticeable buzz of pride, feeling much calmer than he had done before as they began their first lesson of the morning. The feeling remained prominent right up until assembly, which took place in the hall shortly before lunchtime. Sebastian had been following the rest of his class down the corridor towards the hall when he spotted a familiar figure sat curled up on one of the benches outside of the main office, his head buried between his knees and his backpack dumped carelessly beside him on the ground as if he had just arrived. It was Jim, or at least Sebastian assumed it was by the tangled mess of black hair residing on the top of the boy’s head. He tried to wave but Jim failed to notice, and before he had a chance to try again his class had already been whisked through the oak double doors for the headmaster’s weekly assembly. Sebastian slumped down onto the back row of seats between Sean and Finley, emitting a disgruntled huff as the headmaster approached the front of the hall in preparation to begin his speech, all while the blond fidgeted around in a helpless attempt to distract himself from what he had just seen in the corridor.

There was no sign of Jim for the rest of the assembly. The headmaster welcomed them all back from their Christmas holidays with a curt smile before proceeding with the usual weekly announcements; Sebastian didn’t bother to pay attention as the older man rambled on about the school raffle and the chess competition that was taking place the following month, however he did perk up at the revelation that there would be rugby trials after school on Friday for the upper school. The trials were designed to pick out boys for the school team, and would be overseen by the rather-intimidating PE teacher who had been caught hitting one of the other boys the previous term. Sebastian was old enough to join the team now, all he had to do was complete a permission slip with his father’s signature on to allow him to try out. The talk of rugby was the only part of the assembly he had been able to pay attention to, not even the routinely prayers at the very end which he had almost missed from being so lost in his own thoughts; it was virtually impossible to concentrate knowing that for some unknown reason Jim was sat on a bench outside in the corridor, all alone and lacking his usual fiery ego. Sebastian took no comfort in knowing that he wasn’t there to keep the younger boy company, and every so often his attention would drift towards the door, just to see whether or not he could see out into the corridor to try and catch a fleeting glimpse of Jim. But all he could see were the heads of the receptionists, bobbing up and down as they passed back and forth outside.

As soon as the assembly finished Sebastian was quick to race out of the hall, only to discover with a pang of horror that the bench Jim had been previously occupying was now empty. All evidence of the ten-year-old had vanished without a trace, from his backpack to the boy’s blazer and tie. The blond stood dazedly for a moment, before a forceful shove against his shoulder from one of the other boys in his class reminded him that he was blocking the corridor, and he was forced to resume the walk back upstairs as not to disrupt the remaining line of students waiting to leave the hall. Normally he would have stayed behind to help Miss Trevors clean the classroom, but after retrieving his lunchbox and coat from the cloakroom he diverted straight to the playground, deciding that hunting down Jim was far more important than organising the pencils and rulers into their correct pots. He had seen Jim so clearly that Sebastian could’ve sworn it wasn’t merely his mind playing tricks on him, but as he zipped up his raincoat he found himself becoming increasingly drawn to the realisation that it must have just been a boy from one of the younger years, one who looked uncannily like his raven-haired counterpart.

Sebastian decided to eat his lunch while patrolling the playground, unravelling the mountain of tinfoil from the main compartment of his lunchbox to reveal a slightly-battered sandwich and a packet of crisps probably way-past their expiry date. He ate the sandwich first while scouring the terrain, squashing the two pieces of white bread together so that he could successfully cram the structure into his mouth. It was only once he had devoured his third large mouthful that Sebastian spotted a mysterious pair of trainers sticking out from behind the bike shed, and after tearing away a final piece of bread and stuffing it into his mouth he dared to approach, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve in an effort to look presentable to whoever was lurking behind the shed. As he drew closer Sebastian recognised the tangled mess of shoelaces almost instantly, and his suspicions were confirmed upon looking up to discover that they belonged to none other than Jim Moriarty himself. He looked exhausted, scared, and nothing like his usual self. Admittedly Jim had been much more subdued ever since his tenth birthday, but even Sebastian could recognise that this was something else. Something bigger.

Immediately he slotted down onto the damp concrete beside Jim, balancing his lunchbox precariously on his lap and crossing his legs.

“Want some?” Sebastian questioned, tearing away a chunk of the half-eaten sandwich and offering it hopefully to his friend.

“What’s inside?” The other grumbled eventually, after almost half a minute of heavy reluctance.

“Err… Jam.”

“Strawberry or raspberry?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Dunno then, strawberry I think.”

Jim deliberated until finally his curiosity got the better of him, and he peered over cautiously to inspect the sandwich before shaking his head.

“I don’t want it.”

With a defeated sigh, The blond lowered it obediently.  
  
“What’s wrong with jam?”

“Too slimy.”

“Suit yourself,” Sebastian shrugged, polishing off the final scraps of his sandwich in an effort to conceal his secret disappointment. The jam filling didn’t taste as pleasant now that Jim had completely rejected it, and after screwing the wad of tinfoil up into a tight ball Sebastian hurled it irritably across the playground, watching as it tumbled across the concrete floor and into a neighbouring puddle. Jim watched with equal interest, his ebony eyes wide and his arms wrapped protectively around his legs. He was wrapped in his own raincoat which Sebastian was surprised to see was slightly dirty in places, and as he looked up towards Jim’s face he spotted a visible graze against the boy’s right cheek, sending an instant wave of panic through his body.

Jim must have noticed, and instantly recoiled out of shame, lifting up the hood of his coat as if to try and conceal the mark.

“How was Dundalk?” He asked, the jealousy crisp in his voice.

Sebastian felt almost taken-aback by the sudden harshness of Jim’s tone, and gritted his teeth to stop himself from uttering a regrettable remark. Though Jim’s voice hadn’t broken yet he still succeeded in being intimidating whenever he wanted to be. It wasn’t a quality Sebastian had grown to love, but Jim’s spiteful demeanour was a firm reminder that he wasn’t the same boisterous seven-year-old he had been at the start of their friendship.

“Not as fun as Dublin,” He promised lowly, deciding that he no longer fancied the unopened packet of crisps in his lunchbox, and ultimately closed the lid.

Jim rolled his eyes when Sebastian wasn’t looking, casting his attention over towards the remainder of the playground, where the rest of the boys were busy playing football and stealing each others ties. He pulled a face at how happy they all seemed, however he quickly turned his attention back towards Sebastian, who was still staring at him like a lost puppy.

“You’re lying,” Jim stated abruptly. “Dublin wasn’t fun. It’s never fun.”

“Is that why your face is all bruised?”

For the first time since the start of their conversation Jim didn’t know how to answer the blond’s question. Thankfully before he was forced to come up with a reasonable argument one of the footballs had come flying in their direction, almost hitting Sebastian squarely in the face as it passed. It bounced off the side of the shed and the mob of boys quickly came running over, two of whom Jim recognised as being the same ones who had thrown his tie onto the train tracks the previous term. They didn’t linger for long, and after whispering amusedly amongst themselves and scooping up their football they quickly dispersed once more. Jim stuck out his tongue and made a face as they left, but within seconds the other boys were already fully-immersed in their game again, and Jim hastily dropped his pretence.

“Well?” Sebastian persisted anxiously once the boys were gone. “You weren’t in assembly this morning, I saw you sat outside of the office.”

“I was late to school. Kirstie drove me,” Jim answered dryly.

“Did Kirstie give you those bruises then?”

“What?” Jim’s features erupted into an immediate scowl, and Sebastian could just about see the fury radiating from his reddened cheeks. “Course she didn’t. Don’t talk shit, ‘Bastian. She’d never do anything like that, she’s nice.”

Sebastian hadn’t expected the smaller of the two to make such a big deal out of the question, and almost instantly regretted asking it in the first place. He would have felt even more guilty if he wasn’t distracted by the ongoing football game at the other end of the playground, the cheers and shouting of which kept drawing him away from his own thoughts. He turned to Jim, watching as the raven-haired boy fiddled with the strings of his raincoat, before emitting an apologetic huff in hopes that it would earn him Jim’s forgiveness.

“So then how’d you get them?”

Jim tilted his head to one side, pondering momentarily.

“Buy me a bag of sweets from the corner shop and I’ll tell you.”

“You can’t just keep it a secret!”

“I’m not,” the raven-haired boy retorted stubbornly. “The owner still doesn’t like me so you’ll have to buy them. Plus I’ve had my pocket money confiscated.”

“How come?”

“I told you, I’m not saying anything ’til you buy me sweets.”

“That’s not fair.”

Jim dragged himself up to his feet, a lopsided smile spreading across his lips for the first time that day.

“I never said it was,” he chimed in return, waiting for Sebastian to stand up alongside him, and frowning immediately when he didn’t. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Do you want me to tell you or not?”

“I do.”

“Then hurry up before the bell rings.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the corner shop, idiot.”

There were two possible ways to escape the school grounds. The first involved leaving via the main office, which usually happened whenever somebody was injured or if their parents had come to collect them, whereas the second involved sneaking out of the back-gate whilst nobody was watching. Jim preferred the second option over the first; the receptionists were often extremely strict when it came to deciding whether a person was sick enough to be allowed home, and asking them if they could leave would only arouse an unnecessary amount of suspicion. The easiest way to escape was through the playing fields, where PE lessons and rugby games often took place. The field was lined with low walls and a rusty, metal gate which controlled how many spectators were allowed onto the pitch at one time, making it the perfect getaway tool for any pair of rebellious schoolchildren. To get to the gate Sebastian and Jim were forced to sneak around the back of the school without catching the attention of any teachers, made even harder by the presence of Sebastian’s bike which he towed along behind them both.

The metal chain on Sebastian’s bicycle ticked ominously as they walked, and every so often Jim would shoot Sebastian a glare to convey his apparent annoyance. They had to stop multiple times on their way, once after they almost bumped into Miss Trevors and her librarian ‘friend’ taking a cigarette break, the other because Jim’s shoelaces had become undone and he was forced to crouch down and fix them. Sebastian was about to offer to fix them for him, however he was surprised to see that Jim had already tied them himself without asking for any help. They weren’t perfect by any means, but regardless of how wonky they were they were still looped and knotted.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” Sebastian asked.

“From you, doofus.”

They continued walking, ignoring the sound of the bell which chimed just as they approached the playing fields. Jim’s pace noticeably slowed as they approached the grassy pitch, and it was Sebastian who subsequently led the way, simultaneously attempting to wheel his bike across the ground without getting the tyres caught in the mud. The words ‘ _LONG LIVE THE GROSVENOR GANG_ ’ had long-since faded from the wall at the end of the field, yet even three years on some of the cheap graffiti was still visible. Sebastian remembered the afternoon when they had written the graffiti, all four of them, back when Dean and Pip had still been members of the gang. It was the same afternoon he had won the creative writing competition, and been awarded the plastic gold medal before gifting it to Jim. The Summer Sebastian joined the Grosvenor Gang had been the best year of his life, but a lot had changed since then. Nobody had heard from Dean since his transfer to Kilkenny, supposedly not even Pip who had once been considered his best friend. Pip was already at his new school across town, but from time to time he could be seen loitering outside of the corner shop, alongside his new friends in their matching red blazers. It was the same school that Sebastian would be attending the following year - and he would have been lying if he said he wasn’t daunted by the enormous prospect of starting completely afresh, this time without Jim by his side.

It didn’t take long at all to unbolt the metal lock on the gate, or slip through the gap and onto the street outside. Sebastian almost forgot to close the gate behind them, until Jim reminded him sternly that they’d be easily caught if they didn’t. Obediently he followed the raven-haired boy’s instructions, making sure the gate was exactly how they had left it before finally allowing himself to let his guard down.

“D’you think they’ll notice that we’re gone?”

Jim confidently shook his head.

“I only arrived at lunch, I haven’t even been to class yet,” he explained calmly. “If Miss Trevors asks where you were just say that you fell over in the playground and had to go home. You’re her favourite, aren’t you?”

Sebastian’s cheeks flushed a bright shade of red, but Jim had already grown bored of the conversation before he even had time to answer, and was already scanning through the street to make sure that no adults were prying on them.

“We should take my bike,” Sebastian suggested, clambering onto the saddle and beckoning for Jim to join him. “If you hold onto my shoulders then you won’t fall.”

“Can I hold onto your neck?”

“No, you'll strangle me.”

“No I won't, you’re just being dramatic.”

Fortunately as they rode together Jim’s hands remained firmly planted on top of Sebastian’s shoulders, and he stood hazardously on top of the metal pegs attached to the wheel, wobbling every now and again in a strained attempt to maintain his balance. Sebastian was consciously-aware that Jim was behind him, and even as they descended the steep hill down towards the rest of the town he tried to pedal as slowly as possible, weaving between the stream of cars blocking their way. By the time they reached the bottom of the hill Jim was already keen to demount the bike, and swiftly hopped off as soon as they came to a sharp halt, probably sooner than he should have and almost losing his balance entirely.

The corner shop was only across the road, illuminated by the bright array of coloured stickers plastered across the window, all displaying various different bargains and offers on alcohol and packets of crisps. Sebastian towed his bike over towards the front entrance, carefully positioning it against the wall before attempting to peer inside past the maze of stickers. Usually it was bustling with schoolchildren, but since it was only lunchtime the shop was virtually desolate, all apart from a gangly clerk busy mopping up the wet floor. On Jim’s command he headed inside, approaching the till and requesting a mix of the different sweets kept in the jars behind the counter. In return he was handed a paper bag filled to the brim with fizzy cola bottles and strawberry laces, and after fishing around in his blazer pocket he successfully scraped together the final few pence of his pocket money for that week and handed them over to the clerk. Ordinarily the money would have been spent on a magazine, or saved up to afford a new pair of trainers, but Jim hadn’t left Sebastian with much of a choice in the matter. The only alternative was to steal from his father, and that was simply asking for trouble.

Jim was waiting impatiently with his face glued against the window for Sebastian to return, only dragging himself away at the sight of the striped paper bag clasped in the blond’s hand. He hopped down from the ledge, taking the paper bag with a firm smile and a swift kiss to the cheek. Sebastian felt his skin tingle unmistakably at the kiss, and was rather glad when Jim’s attention shifted towards the sweets so that he wouldn’t catch him blushing. After collecting his bike from its stand Sebastian accompanied Jim down the road, listening intently as the raven-haired boy began to ramble on about what had really happened over the holidays.

“They lived on the other side of Dublin,” Jim explained midway through sucking on one of the fizzy cola bottles, allowing his tongue to absorb the sugary coating, easily his favourite part.

“…In a really posh house, the lady was a writer and her husband worked in accounting. They were both the most boring people I’ve ever met.”

“The Perrys,” Sebastian repeated thoughtfully, a small frown creasing his brow as he attempted to wrap his head around the flood of new information. It was something that he should have seen coming, but even now the very thought of Jim staying somewhere other than Grosvenor Street filled him with dread, especially since he hadn’t been there to stop it. “Does that make you a Perry now?”

“Not since I tried to run away.” the raven-haired boy shrugged bluntly. “Apparently they said I was too much to handle. They didn’t want to look after a child with problems.”

While Jim was busy chewing on the soggy remains of the fizzy cola bottle, Sebastian scowled in outrage, yet he couldn’t deny that the news also brought about a sense of relief. It meant that Jim wasn’t going away. He got to stay.

“Then they’re stupid. You’re probably just too clever for them.”

“I know,” Jim hummed in agreement, scooping inside of the paper bag before retrieving a cherry bon bon, popping it into Sebastian’s mouth before he had time to complain.

Sebastian took it obediently, clamping the sweet between his teeth and crunching down on it to break apart the pieces. Cherry wasn’t his favourite flavour, but he ate it anyway to avoid disappointing Jim. It must have paid off, as for the remainder of their walk Jim remained relatively calm, engrossed in his bag of sweets until the contents were almost completely gone.

“What happened when you ran away?” asked Sebastian, who was busy picking through Jim’s discarded leftovers after having been handed the bag, attempting to find anything other than cherry bon bons to make up for his half-eaten lunch.

To his relief he found a final fizzy cola bottle hidden at the bottom of the bag, and eagerly crammed it into his mouth while simultaneously attempting to listen to Jim’s explanation.

“I got lost,” the boy continued, coming to a halt outside of Sebastian’s house and leaning back against the forecourt wall. “I fell asleep and when I woke up I didn’t know where I was. The bus-driver was outside having a smoke and all of the houses looked funny. He said we were near Portmarnock.”

Sebastian stopped directly in-front of Jim, looking up from his bag of sweets in astonishment.

“But that’s-“

“Almost an hour away, I know.”

A stunned frown creased the blond’s brow, and after stuffing the remains of the paper bag into his pocket he turned accusingly to his smaller counterpart, who had climbed up onto the wall and was dangling his legs carelessly back and forth against the brickwork.

“How’d you get home?” He questioned gingerly.

“Police found me.” There was a noticeable hint of pride in Jim’s voice, made even more obvious by the fact that he had begun to smile. “They found me wandering around and offered to take me home.”

“You got to sit in a real police car?”

“I think so, but there weren’t any sirens.” Jim shrugged off the explanation like it was nothing. “Then Kirstie came to get me from the police station yesterday morning. She said I was in big trouble for scaring everybody so much, her face was all red and she wouldn’t stop shouting in the car home… She’s taken all my pocket money away, says I won’t get it back unless I apologise to the Perrys.”

Sebastian glanced warily across to the front-door of Jim’s house, almost paranoid that the older woman might be spying on them out of the window. But it was Tuesday afternoon which meant both she and Brian would be in the midst of delivering their lectures; he remembered Jim telling him that they were both planning on retiring soon, around the summer, which made sense considering they were now old enough to be considered Jim’s grandparents. Sebastian decided to leave out the comment about the pair looking like grandparents, knowing how upset Jim became whenever anybody mentioned it. Only last term he had been forced to contend with a gang of boys in Jim’s class for making fun of Kirstie’s size, a confrontation which had quickly spiralled into a fight, and resulted in a foul-tempered Sebastian being sent to time out for smashing one of the other boy’s glasses.

It was hard to imagine Kirstie as being anything other than her patient, gentle self, but by Jim’s description she must have been beyond furious. Not only was his pocket money confiscated, but Jim had also revealed that he was technically banned from conversing with Sebastian until the end of the week, but had revealed it in such a way that it quickly became evident that Jim didn’t really care. Sebastian on the other hand couldn’t help but feel extremely guilty for sneaking around behind Kirstie’s back, especially when she had only ever been kind to him in the past. He didn’t favour being shouted at by the woman, but Jim made the point that they still had hours left before her return, so it wasn’t as though she was going to spring up on them unannounced. Her signature little red car was missing from its usual parking space, so Sebastian was left to believe that maybe the smaller boy was telling the truth after all.

“She likes you, I don’t know why you’re so worried,” Jim stated as Sebastian crouched down to retrieve the spare house-key from underneath the mat, twisting it in the lock before pushing open the front-door. “She says I should learn some manners from you. You’re the golden boy.”

Sebastian scoffed disbelievingly, leading Jim into the hallway before they drew too much unwanted attention to themselves outside. The woman across the road had snitched on him many times in the past for things as minuscule as leaving his bike out on the street at night, and that afternoon like most others he had caught a glimpse of her stood suspiciously at the window, eyeing both boys as if she was convinced they were plotting something. Jim had failed to notice her, and as he shut the door behind them Sebastian’s heart leapt at the realisation that Jim was already half-way up the stairs, making a beeline straight towards his bedroom. He had hoped that they could just stay in the kitchen; it was the least-decorated room of the house and therefore his favourite, since it meant that there was no chance of Jim finding anything personal to taunt him with. But the smaller boy was faster than he had envisioned, and after failing to catch up with him Sebastian was met with the sight of Jim sat on the edge of his bed, already admiring one of the photo frames he had taken from the blond’s bedside table.

“Put it back,” Sebastian ordered sharply, scowling at the sight of Jim and the photograph before slumping down at his desk, foraging around in his backpack for his English homework.

By the time he found it Jim had made no effort to move and was still sat staring at the photo, and Sebastian could feel his patience being severely tested. He slammed his pencil case down onto the desk, shooting up from his chair and snatching the frame away from Jim before he could manhandle it any further, placing it back onto the bedside table where it belonged. Though disappointed, Jim made no attempt to argue with Sebastian, and simply recoiled against the bed when Sebastian sat back down again.

“You’ve never shown me a picture of your ma before.”

“I didn’t show you it,” the blond grunted. “You stole it without asking.”

“You’re always talking about her, I just wanted to see what she looked like,” Jim pointed out defensively, turning himself around on the bed to face the taller boy. “You have the same colour hair as her and the same smile. She was pretty.”

“She _is_ pretty,” Sebastian snapped adamantly, realising that the pencil he had picked up was beginning to wobble dangerously in his grip.

Jim opened his mouth to respond, but Sebastian had already cut him off.

“She’s still alive, Jim, you don’t have to keep talking about her like she’s dead.”

The final retort quickly shut Jim up, who had grown noticeably quiet since being confronted. Sebastian was tempted to apologise for being so snappish, however instead he turned his attention towards his homework, lowering his head and beginning to fill in the worksheet he had been assigned that morning in order to distract himself. For a short while the only sound that could be heard was Sebastian’s pencil scratching against the surface of the paper, and the lack of any other movement meant that Jim had refrained from touching any more of Sebastian’s possessions.

Over time the sound of Sebastian’s pencil was beginning to grow more irritating than comforting, and despite his earlier lecture it was Jim who broke the silence, having got up from his perch to inspect what Sebastian was doing.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” He almost demanded, alarmed by the speed at which Sebastian was writing.

Jim leant across the table, tilting his head to the side to properly examine whatever it was Sebastian appeared to be doing.

“Because I need to concentrate.” Sebastian’s response was nothing more than a series of distracted grunts, accompanied by an irritated huff at the realisation he had misspelt one of the words on the page. “If I do well enough then Miss Trevors says it’ll impress the teachers at my new school.”

“What’s the point in that?”

“When you first arrive they put you in different classes depending on how clever you are,” Sebastian continued explaining, for once rather pleased that he seemed to know more than Jim did. Jim was smarter than him in almost every way possible, his only disadvantage being that he was in the year below Sebastian at school. Sebastian liked the fact that he was a year older; it was one of the only things he ever got to brag about other than rugby, but rugby wasn’t exactly Jim’s area, or something he was willing to listen to for hours at a time.

“I don’t want you going,” Jim announced suddenly, causing Sebastian to frown.  
  
“How come?”

“Because,” he continued. “It’s too far away. We won’t be able to ride our bikes together in the mornings anymore, you’ll have to take the bus.”

“I don’t mind buses,” Sebastian shrugged gingerly. “It’s not like I’m going away forever, Jim, I’ll be back in the evenings. We can still see each-other.”

But as quickly as the words left Sebastian’s lips, Jim adamantly shook his head.

“It’ll be different, you’ll have new friends and you won’t care about me anymore,” he stated.

“Don’t talk rubbish, Jim. Of course I’ll still care.”

In that moment he could sense that Jim was becoming tense, and reluctantly Sebastian slid his chair away from his desk, leaving just enough space for Jim to crawl up onto his lap and sit. He sometimes did it from time to time whenever he was feeling particularly stressed, curling up on the blond’s lap while Sebastian brushed through his hair and attempted to comfort him with whatever praise he could think of. Normally it was only ever in the privacy of Jim’s bedroom, but since his father was at work it meant they were both alone, unless the lady across the road was still prying on them both. At first Sebastian had enjoyed the interaction, the opportunity to treat Jim like the little brother he’d never had, but nowadays he found himself red in the face whenever Jim kissed him or showed any minor hint of affection. It was different now that they were older, or at least Sebastian was the only one who saw it that way. He had been forced to change his normal route home from school, and no longer cycled past the all-girls school like he had been doing for the past three years. It wasn’t because he didn’t like girls, but because nowadays whenever he saw them all with their bras pushed up and their makeup on display he was met by a strange fuzzy feeling inside of his chest, and on multiple occasions he had almost lost his balance completely after accidentally staring at a group of them for too long. When he arrived home from school he would lock himself in the bathroom, the secret magazine balanced carefully against the side of the bath as he tried to work out what to do with it, or at least how to make whatever it was he was feeling go away before his father arrived home for dinner later in the evening.

He still hadn’t told Jim. But Jim didn’t understand those types of problems, _girl_ problems.

“Why’re you being so weird today?” Jim moaned suddenly, lifting his head up to confront Sebastian upon realising that the blond was sat frozen to the spot, and hadn’t bothered to even try and show any ounce of affection.

“Don’t feel like it,” Sebastian simply shrugged, watching as Jim climbed disappointedly off of his lap, leaving him awkwardly cemented to the chair.

He turned his back and attempted to finish the last page of his English homework, however within minutes Jim was already rustling around the room again, trying to find something to cure his boredom with. Sebastian listened as Jim rummaged around his bookshelf, before appearing to divert his attention towards the blond’s bedside table instead. The crackle of plastic suggested that Jim had discovered his box of action figures on the bottom shelf, and Sebastian was carefully finishing off the final sentence of his homework when he heard an unmistakable noise coming from the other side of the room, halfway between a gasp and a laugh.

There came a rustle of paper, but as Sebastian spun around he realised with a pang of horror that he was already one second too late, and by the time he processed what was happening Jim had already peeled back his pillowcase, revealing the magazine discreetly hidden underneath. Before Sebastian had a chance to defend himself Jim had already picked it up with the skin of his fingertips, waggling the pages back and forth as if they might possibly be contagious. All Sebastian could do was sit and stare, waiting for Jim to make some type of crude comment. But it soon became clear that Jim was just as stunned as he was.

Jim was staring at the cover of the magazine, though his expression was blank and he hadn’t dared to utter a single word since making the discovery. It was hard to tell what he was feeling, whereas Sebastian’s agape mouth and widened eyes perfectly summed up how much he wanted nothing more than for the floor to swallow him up whole, without having to deal with Jim’s inevitable reaction. The raven-haired boy’s eyes flickered over each of the pages, some he spent more time staring at than others, before finally he slammed the magazine shut again, his eyes coming to rest on the scantily clad women on the front-cover.

“They aren’t wearing any clothes,” he spoke eventually, quieter than he had been speaking beforehand.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be” Sebastian could feel his cheeks burning fiercely. The initial shock of the situation had already ebbed away, replacing itself instead with thick embarrassment which crawled at his skin.

He leant forward to try and snatch the magazine from his grip, but Jim had a tight hold of it. That’s when Sebastian noticed the ten-year-old’s expression change, from one of equal bemusement to that of betrayal. And before he could say anything else, Jim had already rounded on him.

“Why would you buy a magazine if they aren’t wearing any clothes? There’s nothing to read, it’s all just pictures.”

“It’s not for reading,” Sebastian attempted to correct the smaller boy, but it was impossible to concentrate while Jim was still holding to the magazine. In a sweeping move he tore the magazine out of Jim’s grasp, shoving it into his desk drawer and slamming it shut before the other boy had a chance to confront him about it. A strained silence filled the bedroom, and Sebastian’s hopes of forgetting about the situation entirely were quickly diminished when Jim mustered the courage to speak again.

“Why were you looking at naked ladies?”

“Dunno,” Sebastian grunted uncomfortably, leading Jim to pull a face.

“Have you got a girlfriend?” the smaller boy asked again.

“No, Jim!”

“How am I supposed to know if you’re telling the truth or not?”

“Because I’m your friend.”

“A friend who doesn’t tell me anything.”

Jim removed himself from the bed, coming to stand by the door with his arms folded stubbornly across his chest.

“It’s just a magazine, Jim!” Sebastian snapped out of the blue, his anger suddenly spiking. “All the other boys at school have one, it’s not a big deal! You just don’t understand because you’re-"

But he couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence.

It dawned on Sebastian that he had said too much when he saw the reaction on Jim’s face, and how his previously-crossed arms immediately collapsed to his side in defeat. He looked smaller than he had done before the start of the Christmas holidays, before his traumatic ordeal with the Perrys had taken place. Sebastian noted how pale and sickly Jim’s face seemed, how his school uniform looked like it had magically grown ten sizes and now engulfed his tiny frame. Even his tie sat slightly skewed on-top of his shirt, like that morning he hadn’t had time to properly fix it before leaving the house. Suddenly Sebastian felt sick, either because of the bag of sweets he had eaten earlier, or at the realisation that Jim was experiencing another one of his bad episodes, one which he had just made one hundred times worse.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” the blond croaked feebly.

“Prove it.”

“How?”

Jim pointed past where Sebastian was standing and towards the drawer, gesturing to the compartment in which the magazine was currently housed.  
  
“Get rid of it.”

Sebastian’s brow creased, but the determination in Jim’s voice confirmed that he was completely serious about the command. A part of Sebastian wanted to protest, but arguing against Jim never did any good, so reluctantly he slid open the desk drawer once more, retrieving the magazine from inside and carefully removing it. He turned to Jim as if to seek the other boy’s approval, and to his relief Jim greeted him with an approving nod. He still wasn’t quite sure what Jim meant by ‘getting rid’ of the magazine, but Jim hardly ever provided clarity on any of his master plans. All Sebastian had to do was trust him, and somehow he did.

Jim never did explain how he had obtained the box of matches, but as they delved deeper into the woods Sebastian didn’t think to question it.

It had been a long time since he had last visited the woods, to the point where the grass and wildflowers were now overgrown past recognition, and the shrubs had completely swamped the previously-clear pathways that lined the woodland. To both of their relief the remains of Castle Moriarty appeared to still be in-tact, as did the rope swing which was still tied up exactly where they had last left it. The only damage that appeared to have been caused was on the exterior of the fort, where the sticks lining it had all been doused in thick red and blue graffiti, depicting vulgar words and pictures of all different shapes and sizes. The only culprits could have been the other children in the neighbourhood; the woods were a hotspot for teenagers and the occasional drunk, and the same graffiti was dotted all around the estate, not that anybody ever bothered to remove it.

While Sebastian took a seat at the edge of the fort, Jim fumbled around with the set of matches in his pocket, prizing one from the box before beckoning for the blond to hand over the magazine. Obediently Sebastian complied, handing over the rolled-up paper before resuming his place, his brow raising critically.

“Here, you need to strike the match against the side of the box,” he explained, watching as Jim continued to fumble aimlessly with the match.

Tentatively he approached, crouching down beside Jim and taking the matchbox from him, dragging the head of the match across the side of the box and swiftly igniting a weak, orange flame.

“Friction. We learnt about it in scouts. A lighter would’ve been easier though, I could have stolen my dad’s.”

He handed the now-lit match back to Jim, who wrapped his fingers carefully around the end in-turn as though it was a prized object. The flame continued to burn down the remainder of the matchstick, growing in size and colour over the course of the following few seconds, until finally Jim flicked the ball of fire onto the magazine, watching as it slowly caught alight. It took disappointingly longer to burn than the raven-haired boy had anticipated, but soon enough the entire magazine had been reduced to nothing more than a mangled heap of charred ash, and Jim triumphantly slid the box of matches back into his blazer pocket. He nudged the pile of ashes with the tip of his shoe, only to quickly recoil at the realisation that they were still extremely hot, but still he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Their makeshift-bonfire meant that the magazine was well and truly unsalvageable.

When Jim approached, Sebastian was half-expecting him to shout or hit him, and was surprised when Jim instead wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into an embrace. Since Sebastian had grown so much over the course of the last year the hug was awkward to say the least, but that didn’t stop Jim from pulling away at the end, and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his cheek. His lips stank of smoke, as did both of their uniforms.

“I didn’t know you liked fire so much,” Sebastian mumbled thickly, casting his thoughts away from the kiss and towards the pile of ash staining the ground.

Jim shrugged.

“I didn’t know you were such a prick.”

It was late now, not late enough that it was dark, but late enough that they should’ve been home for dinner at least ten minutes ago. Sebastian was happy to leave, however for some reason Jim seemed keen to stay. He kept prodding at the ash on the ground, which had now thankfully cooled, before scooping up a handful and rubbing it thoughtfully against his fingers, sprinkling it delicately onto the ground after growing disinterested.

“Bastian?”

“Hm?”

“You didn’t really fancy those ladies, did you? The ones in the magazine?”

Sebastian clenched his jaw at the repeated mention of the stupid magazine, but this time decided not to let his anger show. Instead, he tried to look as unfazed as possible, biting on his tongue to calm himself.

“I dunno. I don’t think so.”

Jim nodded slowly, but his curiosity still wasn’t fully quelled.  
  
“Were you telling the truth earlier about not having a girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Jim,” Sebastian confirmed. “Gang rules, I’m not stupid enough to break them.”

“Oh.”

“Happy now?”

“I think so.”

Jim nibbled his bottom lip and hesitated.

“Sorry about making you get rid of your magazine,” he confessed finally.

The apology was so unlike Jim that Sebastian opened his mouth instinctively to make a comment, only to receive a scolding glare from Jim before he even had a chance to speak. The blond quickly shut his mouth in return, rather glad that he hadn’t said anything that might result in even more of his belongings getting burnt. As they stood amongst the thicket of greenery, Sebastian’s attention was drawn to the distinctive sound of a car engine rumbling past the other side of the trees, a car that sounded worryingly like Kirstie’s. For a moment his panic heightened at the realisation they weren’t supposed to be out in the woods together, but the topic of the magazine thankfully reigned his attention back in.

“It’s alright,” he promised with a shrug. “I shouldn’t have bought it anyway, dad would’ve killed me if he saw it. It’s for the best.”

His response was met by a relieved grin from Jim, whose gaze had remained fixed on Sebastian’s face for the past five minutes. He hadn’t even noticed the rumble of the car engine, or if he had then he had chosen to completely block out the noise. As the seconds passed Jim’s smile was beginning to grow, and Sebastian wondered anxiously whether or not he had missed something.

“Why’re you smiling like that?”

“Because your voice just cracked again,” Jim chimed boldly, tilting his head to one side. "Didn’t you notice?”

“O-Oh… No, I didn’t.”

“But don’t worry, ‘Bastian,” the smaller boy continued calmly, offering Sebastian a somewhat-patronising pat on the shoulder. “You don’t have to be embarrassed around me. I won’t let anybody make fun of you.”


	15. Rugby Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a little help from Jim, Sebastian decides to cheat his way into the school rugby trials.

Tryouts for the rugby team took place at the start of the Spring term each year, right as the new flowers were beginning to bloom and the birds returned from their long migrations. It was an exciting time for each of the boys at school, or at least for those who were actually old enough to compete for a place on the team. In the week leading up the trials there had been a noticeable buzz surrounding the corridors and classrooms of the upper school, one which had left Jim feeling envious to say the least.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” he questioned as he and Sebastian sat together in the cloakroom, huddled amongst the coats and jackets while waiting for the end of lunchtime bell to ring. “When Dean first joined the team he broke his nose, remember? There was blood everywhere and he didn’t come into school for two days… You probably don’t, you weren’t part of the gang back then.”

Unsurprisingly it was Jim who had made the decision to spend lunchtime in the cloakroom. The room was out of bounds during break which meant they technically weren’t allowed to be there, however no teachers ever came to patrol the area, which was a good enough excuse to stay. Sebastian had automatically complied with the decision, thinking nothing of it at first, though deep down he knew there was most likely a reason behind Jim’s sudden, and confusing, change of mind. Jim rarely ever spoke about his problems out loud so it was hard to tell what exactly he was feeling, but Sebastian could easily guess that their hideout in the cloakroom was down to bullying from the other boys in his class again. Jim’s oddly-reserved behaviour always indicated whenever an incident had taken place, whether the boys in his class had called him names, or poured pencil-shavings over his head during lessons and left Jim to frantically try and comb them out of his hair. Lunchtime was usually spent either in the hall or out on the playground, aside from the brief few occasions when Sebastian had managed to smuggle Jim into his own classroom where they had been allowed to sit under the watchful eye of Miss Trevors. Today was an exception to that, but as Sebastian picked apart his sandwich he didn’t seem to mind the quiet atmosphere too much. And neither did Jim, who had ditched his lunch in favour of solving his prized Rubik’s Cube for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Sebastian, were you listening?”

“Listening to what?” Sebastian mumbled through a mouthful of food, looking up to find Jim still glued to the coloured cube in his hands.

“To what I was saying about Dean.”

“Dean? Why were you talking about Dean?" 

Jim rolled his eyes, but was far too busy attempting to solve his puzzle to notice the startled expression that had spread across Sebastian’s face like wildfire. When he eventually did raise his head all trace of alarm had vanished, and Jim eyed the blond suspiciously before slotting the Rubik’s Cube carefully back into his blazer pocket for safekeeping.

“It doesn’t matter,” he sniffed scornfully, drawing his attention back to Sebastian. “Besides, you won’t get very far without a permission slip.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to protest, but soon enough he was forced to accept that Jim had a point.

Since the start of the week the permission slip hadn’t seen the light of day, and remained scrunched up in Sebastian’s trouser pocket while he tried to find someone willing to sign it. He had asked Miss Trevors one afternoon whether she would sign her name, however she had politely explained that since she was a teacher she wasn’t allowed to, and that it only counted if either a parent or guardian wrote their signature on the piece of paper. Sebastian knew he couldn’t ask his own father to sign the slip, as once more the man had spiralled back into his old bad habits. Despite his countless promises he still drank like a sailor, the mere difference being that he spent so much time working nowadays that Sebastian rarely ever saw him anymore. He never explained where exactly it was that he worked, which Sebastian took to mean it wasn’t simply a supermarket or a post office, but each time he dared to ask the question the man quickly became defensive and would disappear again for days, sometimes weeks, at a time.

Things had been okay up until the involvement of his father’s new friends shortly after New Year, who Sebastian blamed solely for making everything worse. Since then the house aways tended to reek of alcohol whenever they came to visit, and sometimes it took Sebastian more than three washes to rid his school uniform of the horrid smell. His increasingly-dishevelled appearance had caught the attention of not only his neighbours but also Jim, who for the most-part was the only person who knew about Sebastian’s little secret. The only reason why the secret was so well-kept was because Sebastian couldn’t risk getting his father into trouble. He wasn’t a snitch, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell on his own father for something that wasn’t his fault. He was a good man, not a bad one, even if Sebastian was the only person who viewed him in that light. But he was determined that once the permission slip was signed he might finally have a chance of getting onto the rugby team, then things would almost certainly change for the better.

“If I can’t get my dad to sign it then who else will? Miss Trevors’s already said no.”

“Give up, Sebastian,” Jim ordered sternly. “It’s a stupid rugby team. If you sign up you’ll end up getting all of your bones broken, and I won’t be there to kiss them better.”

“I thought you were s’posed to be nice to me?” Sebastian retorted, causing Jim to pull a face.

“I am nice to you,” he corrected him. “I’m just giving you advice, that’s all. You should be grateful.”

Sebastian shook his head in disbelief, and would have fired back instantly if it wasn’t for the fact he was still polishing off his lunch, unlike Jim who hadn’t even bothered to pick up the apple in his own lunchbox.

“Thanks, but I don’t need kissing,” he informed Jim determinedly, wiping his hands on the side of his trousers once he had finished eating to rid them of any mess.

“Of course you do, otherwise you’ll end up buying another one of those horrible magazines and you’ll end up in prison. I’m the one who looks after you, without me you’d already be expelled.”

“People who look at porn don’t go to prison, Jim,” Sebastian added. “Plus I thought you promised not to talk about it anymore.”

“Okay, okay, my sips are sealed,” Jim promised unconvincingly, pressing a finger to his lips before they were interrupted by the sound of the bell chiming along the corridor.

He rose to his feet, slinging the straps of his backpack over his shoulders while waiting for Sebastian to join him. Sebastian took a little longer to compose himself as he attempted to force his lunchbox back into his own bag, grunting irritatedly under his breath when the bag wouldn’t properly zip up. After two painful attempts he finally succeeded, by which time the corridor was already flooded with students returning from their own lunch-break. Sebastian grabbed his backpack without much care, weaving his way in and out of the crowd of boys as he tried to locate Jim, eventually spotting the boy by his unmistakable raven hair and jogging over to join him.

“I suppose if you do get onto the team then there’ll be at least one good thing.”

“Hm? What’s that?”  
  
“I get to come and watch you while you’re playing. Maybe I’ll be your lucky charm.”

On that afternoon in particular everybody appeared to be much more full of energy than normal, which meant that as they walked Jim’s short stature made him prone to being thrown around the hallway, losing his footing multiple times and almost tumbling down the flight of stairs leading up to the second floor. Thankfully Sebastian managed to catch him before he fell, yanking him upright by the lapels of his blazer and only letting go once he was satisfied that Jim could manage himself. The exchange had left the ten-year-old red in the face, and admittedly rather cross, but as he marched up the final few steps he made sure to flash Sebastian a brief grin to convey his gratitude. Sebastian could’ve sworn that Jim had also pretended to blow a kiss in his direction, but the corridor was so packed it was hard to keep track of whether or not he had accidentally mistaken it for something else.

“What lesson do you have next?”

“Dunno, history I think. We’re learning about the Romans,” Sebastian explained eagerly, only for Jim to immediately scrunch up his nose in distaste.

“That sounds rubbish.”

“It isn’t rubbish,” the blond interjected. “The Romans were really clever.”

“Cleverer than me?” Jim asked.

He looked almost offended by the implication, so Sebastian quickly shook his head.

“Nobody’s as smart as you, Jim.”

“Good boy,” Jim hummed sweetly, leaning up on his tiptoes to pat Sebastian affirmingly on the head.

Ever since the ordeal with the graphic magazine Jim had become noticeably more possessive, by the way he kept rewarding Sebastian like a dog being given a treat at any given opportunity. Jim’s jealousy was becoming more apparent, and Sebastian’s main priority quickly turned to pleasing the younger boy whenever he desired attention, which was virtually all of the time nowadays. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to constantly keep appeasing Jim’s needs, especially since he wouldn’t be at the school for very much longer, but Jim was his best friend, and he wanted to prove his loyalty as much as possible before he left.

“If you’re busy on Friday does that mean you aren’t coming round for dinner?” Jim asked with an air of disappointment, eventually stepping back down and outstretching his bottom lip into a pout.

“Mm. Trials don’t start until four, at least that’s what the headmaster said in assembly.”

“Kirstie will miss you, you know,” the raven-haired boy chimed thoughtfully. “She’s always worried about you, she says you look tired nowadays.”

“You haven’t told her anything, have you?”

“No, but she’s smart. She’ll figure it out eventually.”

Jim’s words didn’t instil much confidence in Sebastian, and as he walked to his own classroom Jim tagged along beside him, tugging on the back of the blond’s blazer to get him to slow down. Sebastian obediently did as he was told, despite the fact that he was already late for his history lesson, instead allowing Jim to hold on to his sleeve whilst he escorted him to his own classroom.

Miss Trevors was preparing to close the door when she saw both boys approach, and at once she let go of the door handle and paused, a warm smile spreading across her lips.

“It’s nice to see you, James. Shouldn’t you be going to your own classroom?” She asked fondly, to which Jim nodded and let go of Sebastian’s arm.

“I was just making sure Sebastian didn’t get into any trouble on his way here,” he explained proudly.

“I see,” Miss Trevors hummed in amusement, her gaze flickering between both boys before gently she ushered Sebastian instead. “Come in, Sebastian, we’re just about to start. And I suppose I should say thank you to you too, Jim. Now I think you should head back to your own classroom, I’m sure Mrs O’Reilly’s wondering where you are.”

“She won’t be,” Jim dismissed, and then continued his sentence. “I saw her filling up her coffee flask with alcohol on the way here, it always makes her confused in the afternoons.”

He then raised his hand before Miss Trevors had a chance to acknowledge what he had just said, and waved innocently to Sebastian as he disappeared off into the classroom.

“Have fun with the Romans.”

When Sebastian awoke on Friday morning a thick fog had settled across the city, tainting the sky a murky grey and shrouding the road in almost-total darkness. It wasn’t the most promising start to the day, and neither was the rain-soaked pavement outside, which had become a sorry victim of the previous night’s storm. He’d woken up late on the morning in question after forgetting to set his alarm clock, which left the blond with no choice but to tug on his uniform as quickly as possible, barely sparing any time to brush his teeth before he was forced out of the door and onto his bike. The hectic start to the morning meant he hadn’t had time to grab his coat or gloves before leaving, or scrub away the flaky remains of toothpaste staining his uniform after substituting his blazer sleeve for a cloth. As a result his scruffy appearance caught the attention of the woman living in the house opposite, who tutted disapprovingly from her doorstep as Sebastian rode past her, pedalling at full-speed with his backpack straps securely fastened around his shoulders. She made a comment too, only the blond had already cycled off before he had a chance to hear it, whatever complaint or insult she had undoubtably thrown his way.

Sebastian had to meet Jim at the end of the road instead to outside of his house, the reason being that Jim was still supposedly ‘banned’ from seeing him. By the time he arrived Jim was already there, perched on his own green bike and sporting a brand-new raincoat. The bike was nowhere near as pristine as it had been three years ago; the faded paintwork was almost-entirely covered by rust, whereas the chain kept snapping so often that the little bike was practically on the verge of falling apart. The only upside was that Jim still fitted it perfectly, though that was only because he had barely grown in the course of the last few years. He was still just as short and scrawny, the only difference being that the baby-fat on his cheeks had disappeared, and the features lining his face were noticeably more prominent, especially in his jaw and cheekbones.

Jim was engrossed yet again in his Rubik’s Cube when Sebastian approached, not even bothering to look up when the tyres of the older boy’s bike screeched to a halt in-front of him.

“Aren’t you sick of that thing yet?”

“Don’t talk,” Jim mumbled through gritted teeth. “…Tryin’ to concentrate.”

Sebastian obediently did as he was told, waiting for another long thirty seconds before Jim eventually rose his head again, and slotted the coloured cube away into the depths of his coat pocket.

“I’ve got it down to forty five seconds now,” he explained without even waiting to be asked. “It’s all about efficiency, see? By next week I bet I’ll be able to solve it even quicker.”

“I don’t understand,” Sebastian admitted, staring dazedly at Jim as if he had just spoken gibberish.

His comment earned a triumphant laugh from Jim, who had already placed his foot down upon the left pedal of his bike and pushed away from the curb, leaving the older boy to hastily trail after him as he sped off down the street.

“That’s because it’s all about science, everything depends on science,” Jim called after him, his voice masked slightly by the sheer force of the wind that morning, causing both of their bikes to wobble precariously as they turned onto the main road. It was accompanied by the odd spec of rain, likely a product of the previous night’s storm.

There were no buses that travelled in the direction of St. Matthews, which was why each day it was an excruciatingly-long journey to and from the school no matter the weather. Sebastian sometimes wondered why Jim simply didn’t just get a lift from his foster-parents, however he had a feeling that Jim enjoyed the freedom of being able to cycle to school by himself, even if it meant getting caught in the midst of the rainstorm alike today. By the time they arrived the rain had increased dramatically, leaving them no choice but to seek shelter in the warmth of the corridor along with the rest of the boys while waiting for lessons to start. As he stood there shivering Sebastian couldn’t help but wish that he’d remembered his coat; both his trousers and blazer had taken the brunt of the bad weather and left him completely soaked to the bone, while his blond hair was flattened against his head, causing the occasional droplet of water to dribble down his temple and onto the floor.

Despite the cold outside, the hallway was filled with the pleasant buzz of conversation, mostly surrounding the subject of the rugby trials that would be taking place later that afternoon. Unsurprisingly it seemed as though the trials had been on the forefront of everyone’s minds for the past week, however as the mindless chatter continued Sebastian was greeted with a stark realisation, one which caused his heart all of a sudden to plummet.

“Jim.”

“What?”

“My permission slip.”

“What about it?”

“Nobody’s signed it.” Sebastian fished around in his pocket, momentarily scared that he might have accidentally lost the note, until he eventually found it crumpled up right at the very bottom amidst a few old wrappers.

The permission slip was thankfully still in-tact, even if it was hanging together by a mere thread. There was a tear down the corner of the page and creases throughout, however despite its clumsy appearance it was still clear to see that the signature box was completely empty. Nobody in their right mind would accept a permission slip without any consent, unless perhaps a very old and therefore senile teacher. But the coach was neither of those two things, which meant right now Sebastian’s prospects of being allowed to try-out were virtually zero.

“Give it here,” Jim demanded irritably, snatching the piece of paper from Sebastian before he could protest and raising it into the air like a lab specimen.

“Why couldn’t you just get your dad to sign it?”

“I already told you,” Sebastian retorted gruffly, keeping a close eye on Jim just to make sure he wasn’t about to ruin anything. “He hasn’t been home since Monday. He’s working again.”

Jim then pulled out a pencil, causing Sebastian’s suspicions to heighten even further.

“What are you doing?”

“Signing it just so you shut up about it… Now do you want me to or not?”

It took one brief scribble before Jim’s signature was etched onto the paper, hidden so that none of the other boys could see what they were doing. It looked a bit like his father’s scribble, which meant that the ten-year-old must have memorised it from his frequent visits to Sebastian’s house and copied it. Admittedly he’d done a good job of it, but instead of handing the permission slip back to Sebastian all of a sudden Jim retracted it, holding it out of the blond’s reach before he had a chance to take it.

“What’s my reward?”

“What’re talking about?”

Sebastian’s momentarily relief quickly dissipated, and he found himself staring helplessly at the slip in Jim’s grasp, watching as he waved it around almost mockingly. A part of him was tempted to try and snatch it back, but with even the smallest of movements he risked completely tearing the slip in half so he had to be careful. In an effort to stop himself from lashing out Sebastian stood rooted to the spot, biting down anxiously on his tongue while Jim continued to toy with the note like it was his new play-thing.

“Since I signed your permission slip I deserve a reward, don’t you think?” Jim cooed playfully. “It’s called forgery, you can get locked up for it… Which means I should get an extra big reward for helping you out.”

“They wouldn’t lock a ten year old up for forgery, Jim.”

“I’ll be eleven in October,” Jim protested adamantly. “Plus how do you know that for certain?”

“Because the law doesn’t magically change when you’re eleven, either way you’re safe.”

Realising that Jim wasn’t going to back down, Sebastian emitted a reluctant sigh.

“What type of reward?” He asked.

Sebastian’s sudden change of tone reflected immediately in Jim’s face, where his previously-displayed scowl turned quickly into an expression of glee.

“I want a kiss,” Jim decided without missing a beat, like he had already rehearsed the question in his head.

“A proper kiss, not just a peck on the cheek.”

“Don’t talk so loudly,” Sebastian grumbled warily, looking around to make sure nobody had overheard them. He could feel his cheeks growing hotter by the second but he was trying to ignore it, alongside the realisation that his heart was practically thundering in his chest. It wasn’t necessarily a feeling of fear, more like one of deep embarrassment. He didn’t mind so much when they were alone, but since they were surrounded by dozens of other boys the risk of one of them overhearing made Sebastian’s skin crawl. Luckily in that moment it didn’t seem as though anybody had heard them, but still Sebastian kept his guard up, and was noticeably tense when Jim decided to speak again.

“Why not?”

“Because people will hear.”

“Are you scared?” Jim demanded, leaving Sebastian even more red in the face than he had been to start with.

“Course not,” he grunted defensively. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Good,” Jim decided promptly in agreement, just as the bell rung out for their first lesson. “Then as my reward you have to kiss me if you get onto the team.”

“What counts as a proper kiss?”

For a split-second Sebastian thought he’d caught a glimpse of the old Jim, the boy he had first met on the day of his eighth birthday. It was the look in Jim’s eyes; even though he was trying to act confident Sebastian could tell that he didn’t really know what he was doing, that he was simply just trying his best to impress everybody around him. Jim was highly-intelligent and equally just as daring, but he was also the boy who had cried after getting his paper crown torn up in the lunch hall, the same boy who once ran away from home after deciding that he didn’t like the people supposed to be looking after him.

“On the lips,” he hummed. “For longer than five seconds. But no tongues, that’s disgusting.”

Sebastian nodded obediently, and by the time he looked back up again all trace of Jim’s vulnerability had vanished. Once more he was his cocky, usual self, and Sebastian watched as his lips stretched out into a toothy grin at the mere prospect of receiving a kiss.

“Only if I get onto the team,” the blond agreed feebly, outstretching his hand for the permission slip. And to his utmost surprise, Jim handed it over without argument.

“…Are you sure this will work?”

“Positive,” Jim promised. “It’s your dad’s signature, there’s no chance of it going wrong.”

“But it’s not actually his signature.”

“You told me you weren’t scared of anything.”

“So?”

“So stop being a cry-baby and hurry up,” Jim ordered sternly. “If we get a detention for being late then neither of us will get what we want.”

Throughout the day Sebastian was unable to rid himself of the gnawing feeling of guilt clawing at the back of his mind. His sudden change of mood had distracted him in virtually every lesson that day, to the point where even in English, his favourite subject, he’d barely managed to write down so much as his name and the date at the top of his page. His thoughts were consumed with the fear that both he and Jim would get in trouble for what they’d done, and the more the fear increased the more he found himself unable to listen to a single word Miss Trevors was saying. It felt similar to somebody forcing his head underwater, like everything he was hearing was nothing more than a bunch of muffled syllables all mashed together to the extent where they no longer made sense. While the other boys in his class were getting on with their own work and chatting to one-another Sebastian instead found himself growing distant; he slumped back against his chair, staring down at the set of maths work he hadn’t even dared to touch yet. Even on normal days maths wasn’t a subject he enjoyed. He wasn’t like Jim, he couldn’t solve dozens of equations in his head by himself, to him maths was confusing, the complete opposite of English where there were no rules about what you could and couldn’t do.

But even when Sebastian finally picked up his pencil, Jim’s warning of forgery was still swimming incessantly around his mind. He didn’t want to go to prison, not yet anyway. Sebastian was too young to get locked up; he wasn’t even twelve yet, he hadn’t had a chance to grow up or explore the world, or experience his first proper kiss. Whenever he thought about kissing his mind was instantly drawn to James, but he didn’t feel any particular way about it. The first time Jim had so much as touched him was back when they had first met, when Sebastian was no more than a lanky eight-year-old. Sebastian didn’t think the prospect of kissing Jim was strange; Jim was his best friend, and in some ways he considered him to be the same as a little brother he’d never had. Sebastian loved Jim, in the sense that he was determined to protect the raven-haired boy from harm’s way, no matter what exactly that entailed.

Since it was Friday they were allowed to finish ten minutes earlier than usual, where Sebastian was forced to accept his fate and make the long, tedious journey towards the changing rooms on the other side of the school. Even as he weaved his way through the crowded corridors he was aware of the pool of dread filling the pit of his stomach, and upon arrival in the changing rooms it was quickly clear to see that he wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure. At least twenty boys were stood feverishly amidst the rows of benches, some boastfully chatting to each-other about their previous sporting achievements, whilst others looked like they wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor. Sebastian recognised a few boys from his own class who were stood to the far right of the room lacing up their shoelaces, but he didn’t dare to approach. Instead he took his place at the very end of the changing room, in a secluded spot away from the rest of the other boys. To his relief it seemed as though his presence had gone unnoticed, and currently the talk of what position everybody was hoping to get was more important than the blond boy who had just snuck his way into the changing rooms.

He promptly unzipped his backpack and retrieved his trainers, as well as the remainder of his PE kit which had dissolved into a crumpled mess at the bottom of his bag. The school PE kit was green to match with the rest of the uniform, with a striped polo shirt and shorts, and long white socks which just about skimmed the edge of Sebastian’s kneecaps. The excess of green wasn’t something he liked very much, especially since the horrid shade reminded him of almost of sick, but at least if he made it onto the team then he wouldn’t have to wear it during matches. The rugby team themselves wore a blue and white striped jersey, each of which were engraved with a specific number and the name of the player on the back. The jerseys cost fifteen pound each to buy, and were compulsory for every training session. Even if he did make it onto the team then it would be an even harder challenge trying to find the money to pay for the jersey; his only choice was to enlist in the help of Jim, who he was certain would have at least some idea of how to find money.

Sebastian didn’t consider himself to be a self-conscious person, or at least he hadn’t until he began to strip off his shirt and trousers, where all of a sudden he became aware of just how different he was compared to the rest of the changing room. He got changed into his PE kit at record-breaking speed, keen to avoid the other boys catching sight of his lanky frame, or the freckles on his chest he was so desperate to cover up. As a child his whole face had been covered with the orange marks, only as he got older they had gradually started to fade; the only remaining freckles were spread generously across his chest and shoulders, areas which Sebastian was too embarrassed about to even show Jim. Sebastian didn’t like the idea of taking his top off in-front of the raven-haired boy, and sometimes worried about what Jim might think of him if he saw him properly, whether he’d make fun of his build or comment on the different scars and moles covering his skin. By the time they were due to head out onto the playing fields Sebastian was already completely dressed, after spending an excessive amount of time tying up his shoelaces and attempting to brush out the multitude of creases tainting his shirt.

Once on the playing field they were greeted by the rugby coach, Mister Stevens. He was a burly man, with a thick beard and a large nose covered in all sorts of bumps and crooks. There was much speculation surrounding how Mister Stevens’ nose had become so damaged - some were convinced that he had earned it during a particularly-grisly rugby match, while others argued that he had injured himself during a bar fight after killing his competitor with a single punch. Either way, the sight of the rugby coach glaring down at them all was terrifying to say the least, and Sebastian couldn’t help but notice how his gaze kept shifting between the line of boys, as if he was already trying to get an impression of what each of them would be like. Sebastian noticed how Mister Stevens’ glare appeared to linger on him for longer than it had with the other boys, and once more the same feeling of dread erupted inside of him, causing his heart to hammer uncontrollably out of fear. It wasn’t like he was a model student by any means - he had gotten into so many fights over the years that practically every teacher knew his name by now, they knew him as nothing more than Sebastian Moran the troubled eleven-year-old. But with a gruff sigh and a clap of his hands Mister Stevens finally stepped back, folding his arms over his chest and scouring the crowd critically.

“As you all know, you can’t try out unless one of your parents has filled in a permission slip… If any of you haven’t done so then I have no choice but to send you home and you’ll be automatically off the team, do I make myself clear?” The man roared ferociously across the mud-soaked field, towards a reception of shivering schoolboys.

Whilst the majority of rain had already disappeared by the end of the afternoon, a small portion still remained. It would have been bearable if it wasn’t for the wind lashing ruthlessly against the playing field, making the tiny amount of rain one hundred times worse. Sebastian, whose uniform still hadn’t fully-recovered from the storm earlier that morning, listened with determination as the coach began to speak, trying his best to ignore the rain as it pelted relentlessly against his face. Alike the other boys the last thing he wanted was to get shouted at by the coach for not paying attention, but on top of that his main goal to impress him. He wanted to prove that he was actually good at something for once, that he wasn’t just damaged property.

“So, hand them over.”

One by one each of the boys reached into their pockets, all retrieving what looked to be identical permission slips. Sebastian swiftly followed suit and pulled out his own slip, where Jim’s forged signature remained clearly emblazoned on the front. He approached the rugby coach hesitantly, waiting for the boys in-front of him to depart before without thinking he handed over his piece of paper, waiting with baited breath for Mister Stevens to notice the error and scold him for it. But nothing happened. Mister Stevens took hold of the permission slip and pocketed it after a fleeting glance, wasting no more than half a second examining the signature before moving on and turning his attention to the next boy. Sebastian walked away with the same hammering feeling in his chest, only this time it wasn’t out of fear. Whilst a part of him felt bad for cheating the rest was absolutely ecstatic; this was his chance, all thanks to Jim’s devious plan.

“Alright boys, as you know St. Matthews has a high reputation when it comes to rugby.” Once the last of the slips was handed in Mister Stevens began to speak again, this time in a far more serious tone. “…We produce the best of the best, a few of our boys have even gone on to receive scholarships at the top sporting academies. Which is why today is important, I need you all to try your best… _and_ follow the rules.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but feel like the last part was directed more-so towards him than anybody else, however before he could dwell on it they were divided up into two teams and instructed to prepare for a set of small activities to test what they were capable of. Mister Stevens made his way over to the two teams, carrying in his hands a bucket of bibs; each team was given either a blue or yellow bib to differentiate them, where as a result Sebastian found himself being handed a blue one, two sizes too small. While he was attempting to tug it over his head the coach had already retrieved a set of cones and balls from the PE shed, and began to dot them around the mud-caked field.

“Moran, McKelly, you’ll be team captains!”

At the mention of his name Sebastian’s head jerked upwards in surprise, and he quickly straightened out the bib he had been desperately trying to squeeze on. Connor McKelly was a boy in his class; he’d spotted him in the changing rooms earlier that afternoon, sat on one of the benches boasting to Jack O’Donavan about how his brother was supposedly training to become a world-famous footballer. Whether that was true or not Sebastian didn’t know, but either way he highly doubted it. He never spoke to Connor much, he was always too busy hanging around with the same group of boys, the ones who played football every lunchtime and liked to throw around the word ‘ _queer_ ’ as a joke. Connor was only an inch shorter than Sebastian, with a pock-marked face and brown hair which had been parted down the middle into curtains. His hair wasn’t the same type of brown as Jim’s; Jim’s hair was noticeably much darker, bordering on black, the texture of which was always silky smooth whenever you brushed your fingers through it. Connor’s hair was more of a mousy colour, and looked more greasy than soft judging by the amount of hair product he used to keep it in tact. Connor was born in Dublin, however his mother was originally from Romania, and had moved to Ireland only three months before giving birth. His accent was predominantly Irish, but sometimes when he spoke his voice carried a subtle tinge to it, and certain words became thicker in places as his pitch wobbled up and down.

Connor didn’t look over to Sebastian at the announcement of being team captain, and simply finished pulling on his own yellow bib before traipsing over to the centre of the pitch where the coach was stood waiting with the ball in one hand. Despite his increasing nerves Sebastian followed automatically after him, keen not to fall behind. Mister Stevens eyed both boys momentarily, both of whom were soaked from head to toe with rain, before uttering a satisfied grunt and placing the ball down upon the grass.  
  
“Now you two, no funny business. Do I make myself clear?”

Sebastian looked momentarily to Connor, before straightening his back and lifting his head, responding in unison with his newly-declared rival.

“Yes, sir.”

The tryout itself lasted for no more than two hours, and consisted of a series of short activities before eventually finishing with a final match between both teams. By the end of the match Sebastian didn’t think he had ever been so worn out in his life, or as gut-wrenchingly disappointed when Mister Stevens announced that Connor’s team had been victorious in winning. Alongside the burning sensation in his legs the defeat felt crushing, even more-so when he spotted the gleeful expression on McKelly’s face as he sauntered off of the pitch to join with his usual gaggle of friends. He had only won by two points, but in Sebastian’s mind those two points meant everything. He was so lost in his own thoughts that when Mister Stevens congratulated the boys and dismissed them back to the changing rooms he wasn’t even listening, and was far more concerned with the painful throbbing pain around his left eye to notice that the rest of the boys were already on their way back to get dressed. He’d managed to hurt his eye in the final five minutes of the game, after attempting to tackle the ball out of Connor’s grip and subsequently receiving a forceful kick to the face by somebody on the rival team. It was the only injury he had received, unlike Jack O’Donavan who had been sent home in tears after getting a bloody nose, but still it wasn’t something he wanted to have to explain to Jim or anybody else. The area around his left eye felt sore, and Sebastian couldn’t touch his skin without emitting a painful groan, meaning that by tomorrow morning he’d undoubtedly have a large multi-coloured bruise by the time he awoke.

He was stood nursing his bruised eye when Mister Stevens made his way over, carrying with him the battered rugby ball they had just spent the past hour two hours kicking around the field. Sebastian recognised the man’s familiar heavy footsteps as they trudged through the mud, coming to an abrupt halt right next to him, where he proceeded to dump the ball and the stack of cones into the box of equipment by Sebastian’s feet.  
  
“Good effort, Moran. I’m impressed,” he spoke gruffly, offering the blond a nod of approval as he picked up the equipment bucket and hoisted it under his arm.

At first Sebastian was determined not to reply, staring down instead at his mud-stained trainers, until Mister Stevens’ prolonged glare felt as though it was burning into the back of his neck. He had no choice but to raise his head and face the man, feeling suddenly small now that it was only him and the coach towering over him. The coach didn’t seem to be cross, then again he didn’t appear to be particularly happy either. It was hard to decipher what exactly his expression read, especially since the excess of rain had blurred Sebastian’s vision, however the way Mister Stevens was watching him felt almost strange. It was as if he knew something Sebastian didn’t, only whatever it was he couldn’t say it out loud. It was the same as when Sebastian had first lined up with the rest of the boys, like once again Mister Stevens was trying to solve him like a puzzle.

“I’ll be displaying the results on Monday morning outside of the assembly hall. Try not to be too disheartened about today, you can’t win every game you play… McKelly just got lucky.”

“You’re telling me not to be upset?!” Sebastian snapped suddenly, his temper rising before he could help himself.

His unforeseen outburst stunned Mister Stevens, whose posture noticeably stiffened as Sebastian began to shout at him. It was a long time since Sebastian had shouted like that, especially towards a teacher as infamous as the coach.

He instinctively took a step back, expecting Mister Stevens to suddenly raise his hand and strike him across the face. But for the second time that day he was confused when nothing of the sort happened. There came no slap, not even a shout from the burly giant, who instead stood there in silence simply watching him. It was only then that Sebastian realised what he had done, as his stomach twisted painfully with a mixture of both fear and guilt. He opened his mouth with the plan of apologising, until Mister Stevens cut him off before he had a chance to.

“You know, you remind me a lot of when I was younger,” the older man spoke sternly. “I used to be the same as you. I was angry all of the time, I felt like nobody ever listened to me…”

The coach gestured towards the rain-soaked pitch in the background.

“…Then rugby taught me how to control my anger, how to turn it into something useful. It’s not just about being strong, it’s about self-discipline too, about pushing yourself and showing resilience. If you can’t control your outbursts then you have no chance of getting anywhere.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Sebastian croaked helplessly. “I lost. Connor won, you saw it with your own eyes, sir.”

“Like I said,” the coach continued knowingly, watching Sebastian for a few more seconds before finally he began to walk off in the direction of the PE shed, still clutching to the bucket of muddy equipment. “Control your temper, Moran… Now go home and get yourself dried off, you’ll catch your death if you stand out here any longer.”

The walk back to the changing rooms that afternoon wasn’t the triumphant march Sebastian had expected it to be. By the time he arrived he was the only boy left, and found himself surrounded by rows upon rows of empty benches and shower heads. Thankfully his clothes were still exactly where he had left them in the corner. He thought Connor and his gang might have taken the opportunity to steal them, but it seemed as though they had left as quickly as possible, probably to celebrate their victory elsewhere.

The metal door swung shut behind Sebastian as he approached his pile of clothes, beginning to strip carefully down into his boxers. He hadn’t realised how much the bad weather had taken a toll on his body until he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror; the skin of his hands were pruned and caked in wet mud, whereas the rest of his body was covered in various different red patches from where he had spent the afternoon tackling the other boys, similar to when he got into fights in the playground. For the first time Sebastian was able to see the extent of his injury, grimacing a little as he attempted to prod the skin around his bruised eye, only to recoil instantly at the sharp pain it caused. There was no rush to get dressed, and as a result Sebastian found himself milling around the changing rooms, pacing up and down while he waited for his onslaught of thoughts to calm down. Mostly he was furious at himself for losing against McKelly, however a growing part of him couldn’t stop thinking about what Mister Stevens had said outside. He’d always assumed the coach to be some sort of cruel monster, the kind that enjoyed punishing children at any given excuse, but all the rumours about how malicious and frightening he was weren’t true. The older man was far more human than he had first expected.

After an hour passed, Sebastian decided to take the opportunity to have a shower.

His own shower at home was on the verge of collapse, and only emitted a few droplets of water at a time. Sebastian didn’t know the telephone number of the repairman, nor did he have the money to pay them; he’d decided to wait until his father returned home before asking him about the faulty shower, so in the meantime he did the majority of his bathing in the sink, using a bar of soap and flannel to wash himself each night before bed. The flannel was old and worn and often left scratch marks on Sebastian’s skin, as did the soap which was only cheap, but regardless Sebastian didn’t complain. It was only until his father came home, then everything would be okay again.

He didn’t feel comfortable stripping naked, so in the end Sebastian decided to shower while still wearing his underwear. His arms and legs were almost completely covered in thick mud, which was not only wet and uncomfortable but also left behind a horrid damp smell. Keen to rid himself of the dirt, Sebastian turned on the shower tap, standing awkwardly in the tiled cubicle while waiting for the water to fall. It did so accordingly, and for the first time in weeks Sebastian was met by a pleasant rush of warm water, completely engulfing his grubby skin from his face right down to his feet. The shower emitted a gentle hum as the water poured, creating a cloud of steam which shrouded the tiny cubicle Sebastian was stood in. As the warm water pierced his skin Sebastian laughed, then laughed again. Within seconds he was scrubbing vigorously at his skin and hair, trying his best to scrape away every single crumb of mud that had become stuck to him. Throughout the duration of his shower Sebastian was smiling, a wide, ecstatic grin which seemed so stupid considering the mundaneness of the situation. But it wasn’t mundane to Sebastian. Once the dirt was completely gone he allowed himself to relax, letting his arms fall to his side so that he could enjoy the warm shower in all of its glory. He closed his eyes as the droplets of water sprinkled against his face and neck, serving as a welcome contrast against the raging storm outside. Slowly Sebastian raised out his hand, outstretching his fingers and allowing them too to soak up the excess of water, grinning as the droplets splashed against the palm of his hand. The shower, despite being so simple, had made him forget completely about the rugby trials and the afternoon he had just endured. He knew on Monday morning he’d have no choice but to face up to his problems, but for now he didn’t have to worry.


	16. The Name List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the list of names for the rugby team are displayed, Sebastian gets more than he bargained for.

Sebastian had never succeeded before, not in anything worthwhile at least. When he arrived to school the following Monday he was greeted immediately by a crowd of students, all of whom had flocked towards the assembly hall where a list of names had been pinned up with cheap blu-tack on the notice board outside. Even before approaching a nervous flutter in his stomach told him that the names were those of the boys who had made it onto the rugby team, and his suspicions proved correct when he spotted Connor McKelly at the front of the crowd, having evidently found his own name on the list.

Sebastian didn’t want to look, however he found himself becoming tangled in the crowd of students all desperate to see the list of names for themselves, and before he knew it he was being unwillingly pushed in the direction of the assembly hall. The sheet was blocked by the top of Connor’s head, and it was only when he moved that Sebastian was able to see the entire list of names. It was what he had expected; at the top of the list was Connor, followed closely by Jack O’Donavan and Maxwell Powell from the class below. The remaining names were of boys who Sebastian didn’t know very well, until finally he reached the very bottom where only one name remained. The constant shoving from the other boys made it difficult to read, but after pushing his way to the front of crowd Sebastian was finally able to get a closer look, resulting in his heart practically leaping out of his chest the moment he saw it.

It was _his_ name.

Nobody else appeared to have noticed, they were all far too busy checking to see if their own names had made it onto the list. In the background Sebastian could hear Connor McKelly bragging about how his own name was at the top, but he was so caught up in his own emotions that for once he wasn’t jealous. After re-reading the list three more times Sebastian’s shock finally subdued, and in the midst of the commotion he felt his lips curl into a tiny smile. Without a word he slipped away from the crowd, ignoring Connor’s continuous boasts as he made his way through the jam-packed corridor and up towards his classroom, this time with a humungous grin of disbelief etched across his lips.

He decided not to tell Jim about his achievement until after school, by which time Jim had already deciphered that something important had happened.

They met in the bike shed, where Jim was stood impatiently with his arms folded across his chest, the lapel of his blazer littered with all sorts of ‘well done’ stickers that he had refused to take off. Jim’s achievements were displayed all across his uniform, by the array of peeling, brightly-coloured stickers he had gathered over the course of the year. It was a miracle as to how they hadn’t fallen off yet, but Sebastian didn’t doubt that Jim took extra good care of them, especially since they gave him the perfect opportunity to brag. When Sebastian approached he noticed that Jim was sporting a brand-new sticker, a gold star with the words _‘I’m a star!_ ’ printed in the middle. Unlike the raven-haired boy’s other stickers this one was still perfectly in-tact, and took pride of place at the very top of his lapel for everyone to see.

The moment he entered the bike-shed however Sebastian watched as Jim’s expression changed from one of mere impatience to much stronger discontent. Their bikes were parked next to each-other, only when the blond went to collect his own bike from the rack he could feel Jim’s glare burning fiercely into the back of his neck, followed shortly afterwards by the comment he’d been expecting.

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve been so happy all day or are you going to carry on being an annoying dick?” Came Jim’s shrill demand from behind him, causing the taller of the two to turn and face him.

“Not until you tell me about your sticker,” Sebastian grunted simply, gesturing towards the gold star on Jim’s blazer.

“Maths.” Jim shrugged. “I got the highest score on the test we took.”

“You always get the highest score.”  
  
“That’s because I’m the smartest person in my class.”

Sebastian didn’t dare argue with Jim’s statement, especially since he knew it was true. He simply nodded, retrieving his gloves and hat from his backpack while the raven-haired boy continued his interrogation further.

“Apparently Connor McKelly got a place on the rugby team, so did Maxwell. I overheard them talking about it when I was in the toilets washing my hands.”

He finished tugging on both pairs of gloves, feeling an immediate wave of warmth as the thick woollen fabric encased his fingers. It wasn’t unusual for the temperature to plummet at the start of the year; snow was a rarity in Dublin, but each Winter the city still found itself bombarded with icy cold winds and rain, the majority of which remained prominent right up until the arrival of the Spring months. Sebastian had spent all of Christmas hoping for snow, only to be bitterly disappointed when the New Year arrived and there was still no sign of any. It was a long time since he’d seen a genuine snowfall, way back when it was still the three of them living at home. He had a feeling that he was going to be just as disappointed again, only he couldn’t imagine trying to play rugby in the snow, especially if the rugby ball was frozen inside a block of ice.

“Yeah, Connor’s team won by two points on Friday,” Sebastian dismissed, swinging the straps of his backpack over his shoulders before attempting the difficult task of trying to adjust them while wearing gloves. “The list was blu-tacked up outside of the assembly hall this morning.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What about you? Did you get a place?”

Sebastian recalled the earlier promise he had made with Jim, that if he succeeded in getting a place on the team then he owed him a so-called ‘proper’ kiss. Since they were still in close-capacity of the other students he was half-temped to lie and pretend that his name hadn’t been included on the list, but not only was Jim excellent at spotting lies, he was also a master at deciphering things for himself. And the sudden redness that flooded Sebastian’s cheeks was an obvious giveaway.

“I knew it!” He declared triumphantly, his face illuminating with sheer excitement at the state of Sebastian’s embarrassment. “Sebastian Moran’s a rugby player now.”

“Come off it, I haven’t even been to my first practice yet,” Sebastian spoke defensively, but the smaller boy had already stopped listening.

“That doesn’t matter, you’re still on the team,” Jim emphasised enthusiastically.

His gaze kept flickering down towards Sebastian’s lips, scrupulously examining every aspect, as if he was a spider in a web and Sebastian was somehow his prey. The blond realised at once what exactly it was that he was doing; Jim was sizing him up, mentally deciding whether or not he wanted to kiss him. As the examination continued Sebastian found himself growing increasingly nervous, and subsequently kept licking his lips in order to make sure that they were up to Jim’s standards. As his tongue trailed subconsciously across his top lip he could sense that it was chapped in places, unlike Jim’s lips which were always perfectly soft. Jim didn’t share the same bad habit of biting his lips which accounted for why they always looked so faultless, aided too by his rigorous hygiene practices and constant application of lip balm, even when the other boys called him a ‘sissy’ for it. Sebastian had never told Jim out loud that his lips looked nice, mainly because he lacked the courage to do so, but he still thought about it sometimes in his head when nobody else was around.

He took Jim’s hum of satisfaction to mean that he was finished, and raised his eyebrow warily upon waiting for a verdict.

“Can we do it here?” Jim asked.

“Do what?” Sebastian replied thickly, pretending not to know what Jim was talking about. However his newfound stupidity did less than impress the smaller of the two, who proceeded to stamp irritably against the top of his foot.

“The kiss, doofus!” he shrieked adamantly. “You promised.”

The movement was calculated and sharp, and caught Sebastian immediately off-guard as Jim’s shoe came hurtling towards his foot. As soon as they collided he yelped out in pain, mystified as to how a boy of such scrawny physique was able to cause so much damage. He tried wiggling his toes. Each one ached considerably more than the rest, especially his pinky which had taken on the brunt of the injury, but the majority of pain came from the top of his foot, directly where Jim’s heel had landed.

“Fuck!”

“You made a promise,” Jim spoke sullenly again, ignoring Sebastian’s flustered grunts as he waited for the pain to subdue. “…And you said the eff word, which means if you break your promise then I get to tell Miss Trevors you’ve been using bad words.”

“But you use swear words all the time.”

Jim shook his head.

“That’s different, I’m allowed to say them ‘cos I’m gang leader.”

In no mood to argue, Sebastian gave in to the fact that he had technically made a promise, and since it was a promise with Jim it meant there was no way of getting out of it.

“You’re sure nobody will see us?”

“Positive,” Jim hummed. “Everybody’s already gone home. It’s just us.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“That’s just a stupid superstition.”

“But you promise, right?”

“I promise.”

Sebastian was reluctant to agree, but after completing a quick sweep of the bike shed he came to the conclusion that nobody was lurking behind any of the walls watching them. He clenched his gloved-fist in anticipation, feeling as his fingernails dug anxiously into the thick wool, before forcing himself to take a deep breath as he obediently leant in towards his smaller counterpart. Right before he closed his eyes he spotted how Jim was forced to stand on tip-toes in order to reach the same height, however he didn’t have time to make a remark as within seconds their lips were already touching. Jim’s soft lips cemented against his own coarse ones, lingering for what seemed to be much longer than the originally-planned five seconds. Sebastian admittedly had no idea what he was doing, but as time progressed it was clear that Jim didn’t either. Their lips seemed to mush clumsily against one another’s, unsure where they should go or what they should be doing. Sebastian recalled seeing a man and woman kiss on television once, where the man placed his hands upon the woman’s waist and she in-turn wrapped her arms around the nape of his neck. He wondered whether or not they should be doing the same, but the very thought of putting his hands on Jim’s waist made him dubious. In the end he decided to keep his arms stationed awkwardly by his sides, straining his neck forward so that he could try to reciprocate the kiss or whatever it was they were actually doing. For a split-second he wondered whether using his tongue might improve it somehow, until he remembered that Jim had already specifically ruled against the use of tongues. So with a wave of relief he quickly eliminated the prospect from his mind, and focused instead on the uncoordinated, icy kiss currently at hand.

When they eventually did pull away Sebastian stumbled back, raising his hand instinctively to his own lips, which he noticed were now considerably warmer than the rest of his body. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, so loudly that it was impossible for him to hear his own thoughts. Not only that but his head felt dizzy, and the four walls of the bike shed no longer felt like the safe haven they had done previously. Suddenly he was aware of cracks in the brickwork, tiny gaps and holes where any nosy individual could spy on what they were doing without being caught. He’d kissed Jim Moriarty out in the open, on display for any passerby to accidentally stumble across and see. He didn’t regret doing it, even if he did feel slightly betrayed by the prolonged length of the kiss, but paranoia was beginning to gnaw at the back of his mind, a growing hint of doubt that somehow they’d been spotted.

It was a laugh that snapped him out of his daze - a shrill, mischievous laugh which he recognised instantly as belonging to Jim.

Upon blinking he was greeted by the raven-haired boy, grinning proudly from ear to ear while he stood in the exact same spot as before. He was no longer stood on his tip-toes; his hands were dug comfortably inside his coat pockets, the tip of his nose and ears bright red from the ongoing cold weather. The smile caught Sebastian off-guard, whose flustered indignation was growing by the second.

“You tricked me.”

“No I didn’t.”

"T-That wasn’t five seconds.”

“Eight and a half,” Jim shrugged mindlessly, retrieving his bike from the rack and mounting it.

“You said _five_.”

“I said _over_ five seconds… I could have kissed you for one billion seconds and it would still count.”

Sebastian growled in annoyance, instinctively raising his left sleeve to wipe against his mouth as a form of protest. He was preparing to clean off Jim’s kiss before suddenly he found himself stopping, and lowering his arm without any reasonable explanation. As a way of distracting himself he quickly grabbed hold of his own bike and followed after Jim, who thankfully hadn’t noticed his bout of hesitation and was already halfway towards the school gates, all while his feet bounced boisterously up and down to signify his good mood. Even as he trailed after Jim he found it near-impossible to rid his lips of the tingling sensation the raven-haired boy had left behind, similarly the strong scent of strawberry from Jim’s lip balm which had somehow transported itself onto his lips. The unfamiliarly-sweet smell tickled Sebastian’s nostrils, whereas the balm itself left an unpleasant, sticky residue on Sebastian’s lips, leaving the blond to wonder why Jim even enjoyed applying it in the first place. He hastily mounted his own bike as they approached the main road, adjusting his woollen hat and gloves before kicking off from the curb and beginning to pedal after his smaller counterpart, extremely keen to escape the claustrophobic walls of the bike shed.

It was an unspoken tradition for Sebastian to visit Jim’s house for tea every Monday after school, to the point where neither of Jim’s foster parents so much as batted an eyelid anymore whenever the two schoolboys entered the kitchen together.

That afternoon they were greeted by the distinctive smell of boiled carrots and meat, alongside the faded crackle of the radio from on-top of the counter, where so much dust had infiltrated the speakers over the years that the sound it produced was muffled and practically inaudible. After dumping his bike by the front-gate Sebastian followed Jim inside, removing his hat and gloves in an effort to be polite and stuffing them into his pockets. Jim’s house was the same as it always was, from the stack of mathematical books perfectly organised on the bookshelf, to the sweet aroma of Rosemary protruding from the air freshener in the hallway. The warmth the little house radiated was incomparable to anything else, and made for a stark contrast against the lifeless, run-down walls of Sebastian’s own home. He would have been extremely jealous if Jim’s foster parents didn’t treat him like family, and even upon entering he could hear the familiar pattern of footsteps from the kitchen, coincided with the red, polka-dot apron that he instantly recognised as Kirstie’s.

He knew even before entering the kitchen that it was Kirstie by the music that was playing. She only ever listened to the radio if Brian wasn’t yet home from work, as a way of making herself feel less alone in the otherwise-empty house. Thankfully the radio had returned to normal since the start of the New Year, after the month of December had been completely dominated by a non-stop flood of Christmas music. Sebastian didn’t think he could stomach another chorus of jingle bells, and was relieved upon realising that the music being played was just another ordinary pop song, the same type they sometimes played in the chip shop on a Friday afternoon.

Kirstie was busy fussing over the pots on the stove, a mountain of peeled potatoes stacked high on the countertop beside her waiting to be sliced. She always prepared extra food when she knew that Sebastian was coming over, and made sure to save an extra seat at the table right next to Jim’s usual spot, knowing that Jim would complain if they weren’t seated together. Her waistline was slightly bigger than it had been when they first met, but her rosy cheeks and nurturing demeanour were still very much the same. Sebastian didn’t like to think that Kirstie was getting old, yet during each visit he found himself noticing another grey hair or coarse wrinkle decorating the skin on her face. He worried that if she got too old then she might die, a bit like when his great-uncle had gotten sick and both his father and mother had gone to visit him at the hospital, but hopefully it would be a long, long time until anything like that happened to her.

The pot on the stove was filled with boiling water, which bubbled and hissed rhythmically along to the sound of the radio in the background. The older woman had finished fussing around with the carrots, and was busy tending to the pile of potatoes when she heard the click of the front-door and the unmistakable scuffle of school-shoes that followed.

“Hello boys- Oh, what on Earth have you done to your eye?”

Kirstie wiped her hands swiftly against the front of her apron and turned to face the two boys, where the sight of Sebastian’s black eye in the doorway caught her completely by surprise. It had grown exponentially since the rugby trial and taken on all different shapes and colours, from red, to yellow, to now where it had evolved into a monstrous lump of black and purple. The swelling wasn’t as bad as it had been on Friday all thanks to the bag of frozen peas Sebastian had fished out from the freezer and used as a compress, but the throbbing pain as a result of the injury was still unbearable. Earlier that day Jim had made the grave mistake of prodding the bruise out of curiosity, which not only explained why it was now so aggravated, but also why Sebastian became so defensive when Kirstie worriedly untied her apron and shuffled into the hallway to examine him.

A startled gasp escaped her lips and momentarily caught in the back of her throat as she ventured closer, producing a sharp croak that Jim couldn’t help but giggle at as he tugged off his shoes and left them by the door. Kirstie’s motherly instincts instantly kicked in and she rushed back inside the kitchen to find a cloth, soon returning with a tattered tea-towel she had found in one of the cupboards. It was dripping with water from where she’d ran it under the cold-tap first, and decorated with neatly-embroidered stitches depicting a picturesque view of the beach. It was the same kind of towel you’d pick up in a gift-shop whilst on holiday; Sebastian had seen them before on his own visits to the beach as a small child, usually on display amongst the postcards and different-coloured buckets and spades. Judging by the state of the cloth it had to be at least five years old, which meant it’d been acquired long before Jim had started living with Kirstie and Brian.

“Sebastian’s on the rugby team,” Jim chimed boastfully, entering the kitchen first and swiping a grape from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table, popping it into his mouth.

He only ate red grapes rather than green ones nowadays, another one of his odd rituals that had only recently developed. He only took one single grape rather than a handful, swirling it meticulously around his mouth to extract all of the juice before eventually swallowing it once he was finished. He reached his hand into the bowl to collect another grape while Kirstie continued to fuss with Sebastian’s injury, despite the boy’s polite protests and reassurance that he could manage by himself.

“Don’t you go getting into any trouble,” she warned fretfully, removing the cloth briefly to check on the state of the wound and sighing softly to herself. “Those rugby games can be nasty, and we certainly don’t need anymore broken bones around here.”

She pulled away only at the realisation that the water on the stove was still boiling, handing the tea-towel over to Sebastian before fastening the strings of her apron and hurrying off to tend to the rest of dinner.

“No more fruit, James, otherwise you won’t want your dinner,” she spoke sternly as Sebastian followed her inside, eyeing Jim as he prepared to take a third grape.

It wasn’t like Jim to follow orders, and when Kirstie had her back turned he quickly snatched another piece of fruit from the bowl, shovelling it into his mouth at lightning speed while she wasn’t looking.

“I need fruit if I’m going to be as big and strong as Sebastian,” he hummed through a mouthful of food, earning a disapproving glare from the older woman once she realised he’d ignored her instructions.

He then proceeded to pluck the final red grape from the bowl, but instead of eating it he outstretched it in Sebastian’s direction and beckoned for the blond to open his mouth. Sebastian lowered the tea-towel in his hand and obediently did as he was told, allowing Jim to place the grape onto the tip of his tongue before he closed his mouth and began to chew. Red grapes weren’t his favourite, but regardless he still proudly wolfed down the food he was given, mostly in an effort to impress Jim. In return he received a pleased hum from the raven-haired boy, and an almost-troubled frown from Kirstie who had been watching from afar.

“I’m sure Sebastian can feed himself, James,” she spoke firmly.

But Jim promptly shook his head.

“He likes it, don’t you ‘Bas?”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’m helping him to build his muscles,” the raven-haired boy continued boastfully. “So that he’ll be strong enough to beat Connor McKelly in the next match they play.”

“Connor? Is he a friend of yours?” Kirstie was busy dishing up dinner, however she looked up in interest at the mention of the unfamiliar name.

“No, an enemy.”

Jim’s furious retort was met by a chuckle from Kirstie, who hadn’t seemed to understand that Jim was being completely serious. She placed three plates of food down onto the table, each filled with an assortment of boiled mincemeat, potatoes, and carrots. The fourth plate belonging to Brian was wrapped in tinfoil and sat on the countertop; Sebastian was surprised that the Englishman wasn’t joining them for dinner, until Jim explained to him that he had a doctor’s appointment that evening and the tinfoil was merely to stop his dinner from getting cold. Sebastian had wanted to ask what the doctor’s appointment was for, but he knew if he asked it would make it seem as though he was prying.

Dinner was eaten with the radio still playing in the background, alongside Kirstie’s trivial questions about whether or not they’d had a good day at school. The small-talk was ignored mainly by Sebastian, whose appetite had spiked upon being presented with the food and was happily wolfing down his plateful. He looked up occasionally to answer a question or to accept a second helping of mince, and within ten minutes he was already finished. His empty plate made a stark contrast against Jim’s, who had barely even touched his vegetables, however just as he was preparing to take his final mouthful the topic of rugby arose once more.

“I take it you’ll be busy training for your first match then?” asked Kirstie gently, standing up so that she could place the empty dishes into the sink.

Jim was the only one who hadn’t finished his meal, and been told that because of it he wasn’t allowed any ice-cream for pudding. He’d kicked up so much of a fuss that in the end Kirstie had given in and rewarded him with a solitary chocolate biscuit, which he sat eating while perched on top of the kitchen counter, watching the older woman wash the dishes in the basin beside him. Feeling a little guilty, Sebastian had politely declined both the offers of ice-cream or a biscuit, and instead offered to help Kirstie dry the mountain of wet dishes.

“Practice is after school every Friday,” he explained, his stare fixated on the plate he was currently attempting to clean with a cloth. The plate looked like porcelain which meant it was expensive, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally drop it and smash it.

“But we don’t have our first match until next month. Mister Stevens is driving us there in the minibus.”

“Mister Stevens?”

“He’s the PE teacher,” Jim interjected, dusting the crumbs of chocolate from his lips. “Everybody’s scared of him. He killed a man once in a fight, that’s how his nose got all crooked.”

“That never happened,” Sebastian spoke defensively in return, shooting Jim a small glare as he continued to dry the mountain of cutlery.

“Then _how_ did he break his nose?”

“Dunno, it was probably just an accident. People get injured all the time.”

“Or it was intentional,” Jim sniffed scornfully, looking equally just as cynical at the prospect. “You should be careful… you already have a black eye, if you get anymore hurt then your face won’t be pretty anymore.”

At Jim’s morbid warning Sebastian instinctively raised a hand to his eye, trailing his fingers across the bruised wall of skin and wincing as soon as he made contact with it. He couldn’t imagine getting his nose broken, nor did he want to think about it. He had broken the noses of plenty of other boys before on separate occasions, but that didn’t matter since he wasn’t the one being injured. Sebastian didn’t want to end up looking like Mister Stevens, especially not the extent to which the man’s nose was twisted and and misshapen; he had a horrible feeling that getting his nose broken would be ten times more painful than garnering a black eye, not only that but it meant Jim would no longer deem him to be ‘nice-looking’, which Sebastian consideredto be an even worse fate. He could feel Jim’s eyes on the back of his neck and quickly lowered his hand, secretly grateful that he still had a whole heap of plates to dry in order to keep himself distracted from the thought of what Jim might do if he didn’t like him anymore.

Once the plates and cutlery were all washed up and put back in their original spots, Sebastian collected his coat and shoes from the hallway and politely thanked Kirstie for dinner. He could tell she was reluctant to let him go, and was proven correct when just before he left she held him back, ushering him into the living room and closing the door behind them to stop Jim from eavesdropping. Even as they sat down Sebastian could hear the impatient scuffle of feet outside from where Jim was trying to listen in, and admittedly being alone in a room with the older woman felt somewhat strange. Sebastian tried to take comfort in the fact that she was smiling, but it didn’t take away the fact that his hands were beginning to grow clammy and his foot was bouncing nervously up and down against the carpet.

“Everything is okay, isn’t it?” Kirstie asked tentatively once they were seated, keeping her voice to a very low minimum so that the conversation stayed strictly between them.

She looked up, and straight away Sebastian could tell she was referring to his black eye.

“I know things are tough right now, I just get worried seeing you in such a state… You know you can always talk to me if something’s bothering you.”

Kirstie was a naturally a kind woman, but even now it was obvious that the overly-gentle tone she was using wasn’t her usual voice. It sounded like she was probing for something provocative, likely something to do with his father. A part of Sebastian was tempted to tell her everything. He wondered how the older woman would react if he told her about his father’s friends, how there was hardly any food left in the fridge anymore due to his father’s constant disappearances. He highly-doubted the reception would be a good one, either that or it would finally prove Kirstie’s suspicions correct after all this time. Either way he didn’t want to give Kirstie the satisfaction of knowing, so he merely shook his head and shrugged.

“I’m fine,” Sebastian grunted determinedly.

His response came out a lot more bluntly than he’d hoped, and immediately he felt the need to apologise.

“Sorry.”

“I know, love.”

Kirstie offered him a saddened smile, before without a single world she outstretched her arms towards the troubled blond. After some initial hesitation Sebastian accepted the gesture, shuffling forward and practically engulfing the woman, curling his body up into a tight ball while her arms wrapped tenderly around him. It had been a long time since he’d been hugged this way by anyone. His family weren’t what you would describe as the ‘hugging type’, the only contrary to that had been his mother, whose hugs had been delivered freely right up until the day she left home.

There were noticeable differences between Kirstie and his mother however. Not only was Kirstie’s size and shape a lot different, but the first thing Sebastian noticed was the difference in perfume she was wearing. It smelt like a cheap brand, as if the older woman had been in a rush when she’d brought it and hadn’t had time to check the contents properly. The smell was sweet and comforting, almost flowery, only Sebastian wasn’t very good at identifying different types of flowers so he wasn’t sure. He had a feeling Jim would be able to identify the scent within seconds. The woollen fabric of Kirstie’s cardigan served as a soft cushion for Sebastian to rest his head against, which he did while the older woman soothingly rubbed his back and allowed him as much time as he needed.

It was five minutes in total before Sebastian finally pulled away from the hug, almost disappointed by the sudden blast of cold air as he stood back up again. He looked to Kirstie, who had also gotten up and was busy adjusting her cardigan, swallowing the embarrassed lump in his throat.

“You won’t tell Jim, will you?” He asked feebly, earning a sympathetic smile from the older woman.

“I don’t think he needs to know.”

When Kirstie eventually opened the door Jim almost fell through the threshold, confirming the fact that he’d been stood outside eavesdropping all along. The smaller boy looked furious as he surveyed the pair, especially Kirstie who he directed the majority of his anger towards. The wooden door separating the living room from the hallway was thick, which meant that all Jim could have possibly heard was muffled voices, and it was highly unlikely that he’d overheard any of their conversation.

“Can I walk Sebastian home now?” He pestered irritably, the jealousy evident in his voice.

Jim grabbed hold of Sebastian’s sleeve before the blond had time to react, leading him towards the front-door. Sebastian managed to direct a brief smile towards Kirstie before he was led out of the front-door, however he didn’t even have a chance to thank her for the hug before he was forcefully evicted onto the street. The front-door swung shut behind them, and as soon as they stepped foot onto the street Jim spun round on his heel to interrogate him.

“What did she want?” He demanded, folding his arms stubbornly across his chest.

Sebastian, who had seen the question coming, forcibly bit down on his tongue.

“She wanted to make sure my eye wasn’t hurting too much,” he lied simply, hoping it would be enough to satisfy his younger counterpart.

Jim didn’t reply immediately; if it wasn’t for the wind Sebastian could’ve sworn he’d be able to hear the cogs turning inside of the raven-haired boy’s brain, processing every little detail of what he’d just said to try and work out whether he was lying or not. By the end of it Jim still didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he nodded his head anyway and began to walk along the uneven paving slabs lining the street, carefully avoiding all of the cracks.

“She worries too much,” Jim stated bluntly, his shrill voice accompanied by the gentle ticks of Sebastian’s bike chain as he wheeled it along the road.

“She’s just being nice, Jim.”

“No she isn’t,” the raven-haired boy continued. “She thinks I boss people around too much, which isn’t true at all!”

They stopped outside of Sebastian’s house, where the leaves in the forecourt rustled upon their arrival. Sebastian dumped his bike down onto the concrete outside, and was preparing to retrieve the key from underneath the doormat before Jim piped up again, this time in a sickly-sweet, teasing voice.

“Did y’ find the money for a rugby jersey?” He chimed, swinging back and forth on the rusted garden gate.

Sebastian grunted immediately, attempting to swipe Jim away from the gate.

“Stop it, you’ll break it.”

“Well, did you?”

“I’m working on it,” Sebastian shrugged, picking up the key and twisting it carefully in the lock.

The prospect of the jersey had been on his mind ever since that morning, however so far he’d only been able to formulate a half-hearted idea as to how he was going to earn the money for it. He’d considered asking the clerk in the corner shop for a job sweeping the floor, but there was no possible way he’d be able to earn enough money before the deadline the following week.

He turned to face Jim, only to notice that Jim was smiling again. It was the same mischievous smile he wore whenever he was up to something.

“How the Hell do you plan on getting fifteen pounds ready for next week?” Sebastian demanded, to which the boy’s smile grew astronomically at.

Jim hopped down from the gate, tapping the end of his nose cunningly.

“I’ve got an idea.”


	17. Thou Shalt Not Steal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new gang rule leads to trouble when Jim decides to test his luck with an old friend. Sebastian becomes skeptical of an unlawful plan to make money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - brief description of blood

The first stage of Jim’s plan involved standing outside of the corner shop at three o’clock the following day, waiting for the flock of students from the local secondary school to walk past.

Jim hadn’t explained what was so important about this stage of the plan, only that there was somebody he urgently needed to talk to if this was all going to work. At first Sebastian didn’t understand who exactly they were waiting for, until in the midst of the crowd he caught sight of a familiar wave of chestnut hair and rounded glasses. The hair belonged to a teenage boy stood noticeably further away than the rest of the students, walking arm-in-arm with a girl around the same age as him, both of whom were sharing a can of coke between themselves and laughing at a joke nobody else around them seemed to understand. The girl kept looking up at the boy adoringly which meant she and him must have been dating in some way, however as the boy’s face came into light Sebastian couldn’t stop his fists from balling up defensively at the very realisation of who it was they had come to visit. Even despite how much his face shape had changed over the years it was still very obviously Pip, only this time one of his hands was bandaged and there was a strange girl practically cemented to his side.

“I thought Pip got locked up?”

“He did,” Jim shrugged mindlessly, watching as the crowd of older teenagers drew closer. “A young offender’s institute. They let him out last week for good behaviour.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed as he continued to survey the oncoming crowd of students, almost intimidated by how much taller and older they were compared to him. They were all wearing the same red school blazer, with matching crests decorated with what appeared to be the school motto transcribed in Gaelic. ‘ _Bród agus Rathúnas_ ’ - meaning ‘ _Pride and Prosperity_ ’.

“What did he get arrested for?”

“Shoplifting… Robbery too. They caught him trying to steal a television from Mister Farnsworth’s house in the middle of the night, only Mister Farnsworth woke up and called the police. Apparently the police chased him and found him hiding by the docks underneath one of the fishing nets.”

“There’s no way you could know all of that,” Sebastian protested, trying very hard to picture Pip getting chased down the road by a hoard of angry, baton-wielding policemen.

“I watch people,” Jim responded simply. “That’s how I get clever, I watch what they do and I learn their secrets. Like you, you’re easy to read.”

When Pip caught sight of Jim he immediately stopped, letting go of the girl’s arm who in-turn proceeded to pout defiantly and whine. She too gradually came to a halt, the smile instantly disappearing from her lips as she caught sight of the two boys waiting in anticipation, turning to Pip as if waiting for an explanation.

Pip was fourteen now, but his face shape and height made him look a lot older than he actually was. His nose looked bigger than Sebastian recalled it being and sat alongside the emergence of what appeared to be a small moustache, even if it only consisted of four tiny hairs, as well as a large graze on his cheek which looked no more than a few days old. If the sight of Pip wasn’t bad enough then the smell was even worse; his entire uniform stunk of drugs, a smell which Jim had also picked up on judging by how quickly his nose had scrunched up when Pip approached. His girlfriend in-turn looked to be around fourteen too, wearing a rolled-up skirt with her blonde hair tied back into a tight ponytail. Her hair looked almost mousy, multiple shades darker than Sebastian’s own straw-coloured hair. But regardless of her hair colour she, unlike Pip, appeared completely clueless as to who Jim and Sebastian were, and looked equally just as confused when Pip decided to confront the pair.

“Piss off.”

Not only was Pip’s tone deeper than before, it was also riddled with spite. His anger was directed primarily towards Jim, which made a lot of sense considering Jim had been the one to banish him from the woods back when Dean had still been around. Sebastian still hadn’t spoken to Pip properly since their ordeal; their only interactions had been when Pip sometimes threatened to break both of his arms upon passing him in the street, or when he’d purposefully try and knock Sebastian off of his bike on his way home from school. Even now Sebastian felt somewhat wary when it came to trusting the older boy, however it seemed that Jim didn’t have the same problem as him, and was more than willing to test his luck.

“You know how to get money, right?” The raven-haired boy asked confidently, completely ignoring Pip’s bitter intent.

“What’s it to you?”

“We need you to help us get fifteen pounds. It’s urgent.”

Pip raised a suspicious eyebrow, however the supposed urgency of Jim’s problem wasn’t enough to convince him, and ultimately he shook his head.

“Can’t,” he dismissed bluntly. “I don’t help little kids, what’s it for anyway?”

“Sebastian needs a rugby jersey for next week,” Jim spoke again, this time with fierce determination.

Both Pip and his apparent girlfriend laughed, which only added to Jim’s annoyance. Pip must have spotted the twisted grimace on the boy’s face and quickly stopped laughing, leaving his girlfriend to follow suit a few seconds later. He fell silent, a flash of hesitation passing across his face as if he was tempted to reconsider, before to Sebastian’s surprise he finally gave in. Pip didn’t appear entirely happy at the prospect of helping them out, but after emitting numerous hefty sighs he eventually coaxed the bridge of his brow with his fingertips and nodded.

“I’ll need something in return.”

“Like what?”

“You see the shopkeeper?” He pointed a finger, directing their attentions to the window of the corner shop, where inside the man behind the counter was busy serving a group of teenagers, each of them wearing the same red blazer as Pip. “Every day at six he goes out back to have a smoke before closing up shop. He’s normally gone for around ten minutes, which means the shop will be empty. I need you to sneak in and get some cigarettes from behind the counter for me, the ones in the red and white boxes.”

“And we’ll get fifteen quid?”  
  
“Course,” Pip agreed cooly. “The more you steal the more money I’ll give you, how does that sound?”

“Easy,” Jim replied without missing a beat.

“Good lad, come find us by the docks when you’ve got the shit… And don’t get caught, if you do this right then I might have some more offers for you in the future.”

Pip was the first to walk away once he was satisfied, followed in-turn by the girl he was accompanying. She lingered behind for a spilt second, smiling fondly towards the two younger boys and offering them a discreet wave when Pip wasn’t looking. She finally tore herself away from the street corner and followed after Pip, giggling blissfully as she did so and taking hold of his arm like before. Jim watched as they both turned the corner and disappeared from view, almost immediately following their departure with a roll of his eyes.

“She’s cheating on him with the paper boy,” he spoke as soon as the pair were out of earshot, earning a disbelieving frown from Sebastian.

“But how d’you know that?”

“You need to stop questioning me, ‘Bastian,” Jim sighed with a disappointed tut. “It doesn’t make you look very smart.”

Sebastian swallowed the thick lump in his throat, trying his best to ignore Jim’s comment no matter how much it stung. The whole conversation had left him feeling rather wary, both because of his strong distrust towards Pip and the severity of what Pip had instructed them to do. In countless of their assemblies at school they had been lectured about sin, and Sebastian was fairly certain that stealing counted as one of them. He knew that Jim didn’t believe in God, and while he didn’t either he sometimes found himself worrying about what would happen if God actually did exist; he didn’t want God to punish them for all of the bad things they had done, especially for all of the questionable things Jim had done over the years. When he became particularly worried Sebastian sometimes even prayed, but only when he was alone in his bedroom where nobody could hear him. After brushing his teeth and putting on his pyjamas he would crouch down on the carpet and press his hands together, silently praying for God to forgive them for all the bad things they’d done in the past, even when Jim had poisoned Elliot Thompson’s glass of orange juice when they were eight. Sebastian even added an extra ‘ _amen_ ’ at the end just to make sure that God was really listening, even if he never seemed to get a response. But nevertheless he felt better for doing it, and felt reassured that neither he or Jim would burn in Hell anytime soon.

“What next?” The blond grunted lowly, silently dreading the answer about to spout from Jim’s lips. “You aren’t really going to go along with it, are you?”

“You heard what Pip said.” Jim folded his arms stubbornly across his chest, which Sebastian took to mean he had already settled upon his answer. “He’ll give us fifteen pounds if we steal some cigarettes for him, then you’ll be able to afford your precious rugby jersey.”

“I don’t like him, he called you names.”

“He called me a poof,” Jim corrected him bluntly, without even a hint of emotion in his voice. “That was years ago, I’m not a baby anymore.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Sebastian protested.

“You implied it,” the raven-haired boy retorted sullenly. “Silly ‘Bastian, I’m not seven anymore… I can look after myself now.”  
  
“But-"

“I hereby declare a new gang rule,” Jim announced before Sebastian had time to finish his sentence.

He hopped down from the street curb, a defiant spring to his step as he landed swiftly on both feet. Jim’s school shoes scuffed against the tarmac ground below as he straightened out his uniform, before without warning he placed both hands upon his waist and addressed the empty street.

“Rule number three… nobody is allowed to criticise the gang leader’s decisions. If they do then they’ll be banished from the Grosvenor Gang forever and never be allowed to return.”

Then, Jim promptly followed his statement with a conceited grin.

“If you disobey me then I’ll never speak to you ever again.”

With no choice but to accept, Sebastian merely nodded in understanding while his raven-haired counterpart brimmed with triumph. While he didn’t exactly agree with everything he had to say Jim’s word was still final, which in this case meant that they were going ahead with the theft after all. Sebastian was still reluctant to call it what it was, but maybe Jim did have a point after all. Once this was all over he’d get his fifteen pounds. It wasn’t the most ethical way of earning money, but it meant Sebastian would finally be able to afford a new rugby kit, which would ultimately shut the other boys in the team up when it came to making rumours about him. He’d have to pray to God again before bed that night to apologise for both his and Jim’s sins, especially for Jim’s since he was the one who had organised it.

But Jim was only ten, so maybe God would be forgiving.

By five o’clock Sebastian was beginning to grow hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, which had only consisted of half a tuna sandwich since Jim was adamant that he wanted to eat the other half. His stomach growled as they sat on the wall opposite from the corner shop, waiting impatiently for the shopkeeper to finish his business for the day and leave through the backdoor to have a cigarette. Sebastian could see him clearly through the shop window; he was a stout gentleman, with brown skin and a bald patch on the middle of his head which the rest of his hair had continued to grow around.

Sebastian was partly worried that their little stunt would result in them being banned from the corner shop again, either that or they’d be forced to try and outrun the police just like Pip supposedly had. The shopkeeper still had a strong vendetta against Jim; whenever Jim so much as neared the door the shopkeeper would shout and grab for his broom, leaving Jim to practically sprint down the street before the old man caught up with him. Sebastian on the other-hand seemed to get away with it a lot more often, either because the shopkeeper didn’t remember him or because of how many growth spurts he’d had over the past few years. He wondered if a few missing cigarette boxes would be a cause for alarm, or whether the old man would even notice that they had vanished in the first place.

As it neared half-past five Sebastian was becoming increasingly-aware of the smell wafting from the chip shop down the road, and found his stomach once again erupting into an envious growl. The evening air was filled with the sour scent of vinegar and batter, as well as the faint sizzle of the chip-fryer from inside the shop. He’d much rather have been in the warmth of the chip shop than sat outside on a freezing-cold wall, wolfing down a soggy bag of vinegar-soaked chips as opposed to camping outside as the sky gradually darkened around them.

“I’m starving,” Sebastian complained when his stomach could no longer bear the smell, wrapping his arms around his waist in an effort to try and stop his incessant hunger pains.

The corner shop was much quieter now that the crowd of schoolchildren had dissipated, and as the evening closed in one by one each of the lights from inside began to turn on, flooding the otherwise-dark street with a sudden array of synthetic, bright light. In the midst of the shelves Sebastian could see the shopkeeper, still wearing his usual apron, shuffling his way through the aisles of goods as he set about replenishing his stock for the following day. Sebastian could just about see the counter at the back of the shop, surrounded by all sorts of special offer labels and jars of lollipops, and curiously he strained his neck in an attempt to see if he could spot the cigarettes that Pip had told them about. Since they were so far away it was much more difficult than he’d anticipated; all Sebastian could make out was a row of glass bottles on the bottom shelf, which didn’t at all resemble the cigarettes he’d been hoping for.

“Ten minutes,” Jim chided him sternly response, his eagle-eyes still fixed upon the illuminated windows of the corner shop.

Jim hadn’t moved from his spot since that afternoon, not even to go to the toilet like Sebastian had done. He was poised on the edge of the wall, his legs swinging back and forth beneath him while his tangled shoelaces kept catching in the wind. Sebastian had offered Jim his gloves and scarf but each time the boy refused, either because he was too stubborn to accept help or because Sebastian’s gloves were far too big for him. In the end he settled on the scarf; Sebastian helped to gently wind the woollen fabric around Jim’s neck, leaving a little bit of space so that he’d still have enough room to breathe. Jim thanked him with a brief kiss on the cheek, and for the remaining half-an-hour they sat in comfortable silence, waiting for the unmistakable click of the back-door to sound before jumping down from the wall and cautiously approaching the front entrance.

The shopkeeper had taken his jacket with him, along with his lighter and set of keys that he used to lock up the building with. Jim was the first to enter, after scrupulously surveying the window for thirty seconds until he was satisfied they wouldn’t be caught. He was extremely careful as he entered, pushing the door ajar and squeezing himself inside, before beckoning for Sebastian to do the same. Since Jim was smaller it meant he was able to fit through the gap much easier, unlike Sebastian who tumbled his way inside and almost knocked over a display of newspapers in the process. His small blunder was met with a glare from Jim, who proceeded to press a finger firmly to his lips to indicate for the blond to be quiet, before turning his focus towards the glass door they had just entered through. The door itself was connected to a small bell secured at the very top of the frame, one which jingled madly whenever a customer entered and alerted the shopkeeper. Sebastian held his breath, waiting for the inevitable chime, but to his surprise no such sound came. When he looked down he found that Jim had tugged off the scarf he’d been lent and used it as a doorstep, wedging it between the door and the threshold to stop the door from properly closing and subsequently triggering the bell.

Sebastian, though annoyed by the sight of his scarf strewn on the ground, quickly became distracted as they approached the counter, and were greeted by an array of different-coloured cigarette packets. He soon located the ones Pip had specified, which were currently tucked away on the highest shelf out of reaching distance.

“How many did Pip say to take?”

“He didn’t,” Jim hissed, glancing towards the back-door to make sure they hadn’t been overheard. “He just said that the more we take the more money we’ll get.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed skeptically.

“How many are there?” He asked.

Jim’s gaze flickered concentratedly across the shelf, mentally adding and multiplying each of the packets until within mere seconds he came to a conclusion.

“Twenty,” he spoke concisely, beckoning for Sebastian to help him up onto the counter.

The blond stepped forward, cupping his hands together to serve as a step for the raven-haired boy to climb up on. Thankfully Jim wasn’t too heavy, and within seconds he had eased himself gracefully up onto the countertop. He stood up, plucking one of the red and white packets from the shelf and toying with it thoughtfully in his hand.

Judging by the price labels they were the most expensive brand the shop sold, with each packet costing a pound. Jim wasted no time in stuffing each of the boxes into his coat pockets, managing only a handful before the fabric of his coat was already bulging at the seams. It was Sebastian’s job to take the rest. He stood on the ground below while Jim passed the remaining packets down to him, shovelling each one carelessly into his pocket as even more kept getting handed to him. By the time they were finished their pockets were completely weighed down with the sheer amount of cigarettes they had managed to steal, as well as a few lollipops Jim’s sweet tooth hadn’t been able to resist.

He was preparing to climb down from the counter when movement sounded from the door, five minutes earlier than expected.

At once a deep, loathsome howl erupted from the back-door, and without thinking Jim jumped down from the countertop, accidentally knocking over the jar of lollipops on his way down. An almighty crash followed, accompanied by the shattering of glass and a yelp from Jim who had become tangled in the mess. Sebastian caught a brief glimpse of red tinting the sleeve of the smaller boy’s coat, however he didn’t have time to fully assess the extent of Jim’s injury before they were forced to run, sprinting out of the corner shop at full-speed while the shopkeeper pursued them. For a man of his build the shopkeeper was surprisingly fast, not that it did Sebastian or Jim any favours. He shouted as they ran, his threats of violence piercing through the otherwise-silent night and tainting the surrounding air. Sebastian was too focused on trying to get away to hear exactly what he was saying, and was much more aware of his own panicked breathing as they turned the corner and fled through the desolate playing fields to safety.

They didn’t manage to shake him off until a few minutes later, when the old man had eventually tired and promptly given up. The pair had taken refuge on the corner of Bramley Lane, around a ten minute walk to Grosvenor Street and only a road away from the docks. Sebastian slumped clumsily down onto the curb as soon as they were out of harm’s way, panting for breath whilst Jim stood a few metres away discreetly cradling his injured arm. Upon realising that Jim was being oddly quiet Sebastian looked over, stopping mid-breath as he noticed the extent of Jim’s injury. In the vague light of the streetlamp he was able to spot a small pool of blood staining the outer-sleeve of Jim’s raincoat, decorated with faint specs of crimson from where Jim had done a disastrous job of trying to hide it.

Even when Sebastian stood up Jim still shielded his arm protectively, and made a noise of discontent when the blond tried to approach.

“Go away.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Go away, Sebastian.”

Tentatively Jim rolled back his sleeve, revealing a sharp gash across his wrist that was still bubbling with blood. It looked as if he’d been caught accidentally by one of the shards of glass from the shattered sweet jar, one which had subsequently torn through the fabric of his coat and given him the nasty cut. Jim grimaced when Sebastian dared to touch the wound, sniffling in pain as the blond retracted his hand and wiped the blood against the side of his trousers. Admittedly he was frightened. It was late at night and there were no adults around; if anything bad happened to Jim then he’d be responsible for carrying him home and explaining to Jim’s foster parents what they had done, and that would only land them both in big trouble. But more-so he didn’t like seeing Jim in pain. The very sight of the raven-haired boy’s lip wobbling as he tried to hold back tears filled him with an unshakeable sense of anger, the same type he felt whenever he saw Jim being picked on at school. He waited for his anger to slowly subdue before realising that the blood in Jim’s cut was still pouring at an alarming rate, and decided that they needed to somehow find a way of putting pressure on it to stop it from getting any worse.

“Hold still,” Sebastian instructed anxiously, unzipping his coat to retrieve his school tie, carefully loosening it before slipping it over his head and outstretching it to Jim.

He gestured for Jim to hold out his arm, and watched as the raven-haired boy did so with heavy reluctance. Sebastian would have used his scarf, but to his dismay he couldn’t find it. Either he had lost it during their chase or he’d forgotten to pick it up off the floor when they’d left the shop, though he had a terrible feeling it was the latter. Thankfully it had only been a cheap scarf, and not one of his prized rugby scarves that he often wore to matches. It was one he’d specifically bought for that winter, knitted using red wool and decorated with little tassels at the end which had already grown frayed from the onslaught of bad weather they’d been experiencing. Nevertheless Sebastian was still gutted that he’d managed to misplace it, and made a mental note to go and search for it in the corner shop the following day, just as long as the shopkeeper didn’t recognise his face. But it was hard to disguise himself when he spent the majority of his days glued protectively to Jim’s side. Jim was hardly the most favoured boy on the estate. Sebastian was almost certain that most of their neighbours cowered in fear whenever they saw the small, dark-haired boy marching down the road, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if Kirstie and Brian’s letterbox had been flooded over the years with angry complaints from the estate’s residents demanding that Jim be given some form of discipline.

The blond could tell that Jim was eyeing him suspiciously through a hazy wall of tears, however it was impossible for him to actually place pressure on the smaller boy’s cut when he kept refusing to keep still.

“You aren’t keeping still, you’re fidgeting too much,” Sebastian complained in annoyance, waiting impatiently for Jim to stop wriggling and trying to evade his grip.

“That’s because this is stupid,” Jim retorted defiantly, breaking into a wince as Sebastian tightened the school-tie around his wound, a lot tighter than he’d anticipated. “Pip told us to meet him at the docks, if we don’t go then we won’t get the money.”

“There.”

Sebastian finished tying up the last of the fabric, only half-listening to what Jim had to say about meeting Pip. He took a step back to observe the makeshift bandage he had created, and while it certainly wasn’t the best he was still relieved that the bleeding on Jim’s arm appeared to have disappeared from sight. 

“The pressure should stop the cut from bleeding, I did a first aid course with my scout pack.”

“It still hurts,” Jim sniffed despondently, flexing his arm back and forth and watching thoughtfully as Sebastian’s tie continued to soak up the excess of blood.

“It will for a bit, but it’ll stop you from bleeding out which is a good thing.”

Sebastian helped to roll Jim’s sleeve back up again, while the raven-haired boy occupied himself with one of the lollipops he had managed to steal right before all Hell broke loose. He was no longer crying or snivelling, instead he was sucking methodically on the outer layer of the lollipop he’d plucked from his pocket, licking it with his tongue to try and absorb all of the artificial colouring. Sebastian had been allowed a few licks, all while under the watchful eye of Jim who was keen to make sure that the blond didn’t take too much. It was a strawberry-flavoured sweet and left a sugary aftertaste in Sebastian’s mouth, one which soon descended into a feeling of sickness after he’d surpassed a certain amount of licks. He didn’t consider himself to have a sweet tooth, unlike Jim who seemed to eat nothing aside from sugary sweets and the occasional piece of fruit. It was one of the many childlike habits Jim hadn’t managed to break out of, and one of the sole reasons why Jim still resembled a small child rather than an actual growing ten-year-old.

After a quick count to make sure that they still had all of the cigarettes in-tact, it was a short trek down to the docks where they’d been instructed to meet Pip.

Already the sky was completely pitch-black, not helped by the fact that as they neared the docks there seemed to be less and less streetlights guiding the way. In-fact the only light seemed to come from the very end of the dock, where if they squinted slightly they could just about make out the shape of something orange and glowing illuminating from behind one of the large shipping containers. Aside from the mysterious beacon of light there was no sign of life, and Sebastian would’ve been hesitant to step inside if Jim hadn’t already done so first.

“Can you see anyone?”

“Not yet.” Jim’s voice was quiet, however as they walked his words seemed to bounce between the rusted metal walls of the shipping containers surrounding them, making it sound eerily like they were being followed.

It was only when they delved closer that Sebastian heard the first hint of an actual human, in the form of a teenage girl shrieking with laughter at the far end of the dockside. Soon enough more noises came into earshot; it sounded as though there were at least seven people in total as opposed to only one girl, and as they ventured even further Sebastian realised that the strange orange glow from earlier was in-fact a small bonfire, where rope fishing nets and numerous equipment had been used as a substitute for kindling. He received a sharp elbow in the ribs from Jim, who used his pale index finger to point him in the direction of the middle of the group, where lo and behold sat Pip, perched on the concrete floor sipping at a bottle of what could only have been alcohol, with the same girl from earlier resting her head endearingly against his shoulder while he proceeded to gently rub her back.

The bonfire in the centre of the circle had grown exponentially, and as the orange flames continued to hiss and rise none of the pack appeared to be paying any attention, all of whom were busy chatting to one another or making out with their respective counterpart. There were at least three couples when Jim dared to approach, including Pip and his girlfriend who were practically shovelling their tongues down each other’s throats, making all sorts of strange, muffled noises as they did so.

When Pip eventually prized his lips away from the other girl’s mouth he caught sight of both Sebastian and Jim waiting uncomfortably in the shadow of the shipping container, and immediately he beckoned them over.

“How many?”

Jim, who ordinarily didn’t have a problem with crowds, found himself becoming suddenly self-conscious at the sight of almost a dozen pairs of eyes all directed solely towards him. He didn’t know anybody in the group aside from Pip, not that he wanted to get to know any of them. They looked to be all at least in secondary school, most probably in their second or third year if not even older. Jim didn’t like being watched, not by people he didn’t know, and as Pip asked the question he found his fingernails digging subconsciously into the skin of his palm as he tried to distract himself from the sea of transfixed stares.

“Twenty,” he spoke feebly in the end, failing to make his voice any louder than a murmur.

“Prove it.”

Jim awkwardly retrieved the red and white boxes from inside his coat pocket, followed in-turn by Sebastian who did the very same a few seconds later. They each dumped their collective hoards down onto the floor below, where Pip hastily snatched them away and decided to observe them for himself.  
  
“This one’s got blood on it,” he stated bluntly, picking up the first and examining it in his hand.

When he looked up again he spotted the bloody remains on Jim’s sleeve, and almost immediately his expression flashed with realisation.

“I’ll have to knock off a couple of pounds for that,” Pip continued, sounding oddly businesslike whether or not he was doing it just to intimidate Jim and Sebastian. “Fifteen quid.”

“But you told us the more we stole the more money we’d get,” Jim protested fiercely, finally finding the courage to speak up. “Those were worth one pound each, we should at least be getting twenty quid.”

Pip had already taken the cigarette packets for himself, dumping them all into what seemed to be his school backpack, before fishing around in his back pocket and handing over two scrunched up notes - a five and a ten, fifteen in total.

“If some of them weren’t damaged then maybe I’d reconsider,” he spoke simply, handing out the two notes for Jim to irritably snatch them away and stuff them into his pocket.

Sebastian, who had been watching from the sidelines, couldn’t help but feel slightly skeptical by Pip’s sudden change of mind, almost like it had been done solely to embarrass them in-front of the rest of the group.

“You’re a smart kid, Jim, you know I’m only being fair,” he hummed unconvincingly. “You got your fifteen quid like you asked for.”

“What do you need the cigarettes for?” Sebastian butted in before he could help himself.

“I sell them,” Pip explained with an air of smugness, his focus drifting back to Jim. “It’s how I make a profit… and if you carry on helping me then I’ll share some of the profit with you too. We need someone with a brain like yours, none of us are any good with the maths stuff.”

“How much?”

“I’ll share half.”

“I want all of it,” Jim decided.

Pip’s brow creased in confusion, having clearly not expected such a blunt response from Jim. Despite the bonfire, the air around them felt strangely cold, and without the presence of his scarf Sebastian felt almost suffocated by the icy presence in the air. He could hear the fishing boats rattling around them, from where the equipment all kept colliding with one another, creating a sinister chorus of crashes and thuds to accompany the gulls and other sea birds that had settled down for the night.

“I got hurt,” Jim continued upon realising that Pip wasn’t going to respond. “Me and Seb got chased. I won’t help you, I want you to give us the money you promised.”

“I already said-"

“-Or I’ll tell the police what you’re doing with those cigarettes.”

Unwillingly, Pip dove his hand back into his pocket and rummaged around for whatever money he could find, eventually pulling out another five pound note despite the reluctance on his face.

“Twenty then.”

“Thirty,” Jim corrected him.  
  
“Why the fuck would I give you thirty quid?”

“As compensation for getting my arm slashed,” the raven-haired boy explained without missing a beat, outstretching his hand for Pip to transfer over the money. “Thirty for me and thirty for ‘Bastian.”

The outrageous suggestion was met with outcry from the surrounding teenagers, all of whom looked more than displeased that Jim had gatecrashed their evening and was now requesting money. They all began to protest, demanding furiously for Pip to do something, however the threat of going back to prison had turned Pip’s face a sluggish shade of grey, and in a split second Jim already knew that he’d won.

“Thirty each… and if you tell anyone I swear to fuck I’ll kill you both.”

It felt strange walking home with thirty pounds clasped in his hand, but as he said his goodbyes to Sebastian and approached his own front-door Jim couldn’t deny that his heart was pounding with utmost delight at the outcome of the evening. He knocked on the door just past seven o’clock, quickly stuffing the excess of notes into his coat pocket when he heard footsteps and the sound of a woman’s startled cry sounding from inside. He knew he was in trouble when the door opened to reveal Kirstie in her best cooking apron, which could only have meant that he’d missed dinner.

At the sight of the scrawny ten-year-old Kirstie’s eyes immediately widened in a mix of both shock and subtle relief, and before he knew it Jim was dragged through the threshold of the door and into the warmth of the hallway inside.

“James Moriarty you had us worried sick!” The older woman shrieked as soon as the front-door was closed, clasping a hand to her forehead just as Brian emerged from the depths of the kitchen to observe the situation, still with his gravy-stained napkin tucked into his shirt collar. “We thought something had happened to you, we were a few minutes away from calling the police.”

Jim didn’t understand the severity of the situation, nor why Kirstie was being so hysterical. If he didn’t know any better he’d have thought that she was preparing for the end of the world, not scolding a child simply for being a few hours late home. Subsequently he was sent upstairs to bed that evening in a disgrace, and was banned from watching television or listening to the radio for the rest of the night. Jim was a little disappointed since he’d been looking forward to watching a repeat of his usual X-Men cartoon that evening, and with a disgruntled huff of envy he marched up towards his bedroom and slammed the door promptly shut behind him, hoping to convey his anger towards the unfair punishment.

The punishment wasn’t only for arriving home late, it was also because Jim wouldn’t reveal to Kirstie what exactly it was that he’d been doing. She asked if he’d been to the park or to the cinema, where both times Jim had determinedly shook his head, leading the poor woman on a wild goose chase until eventually she’d grown so frustrated that she’d given up. He knew it must have been bad since Kirstie rarely ever got angry, not unless he’d either broken the law in some shape or form or done something that had ended in complete disaster. Jim didn’t feel guilty however, nor did he feel the need to apologise. He always found himself being forgiven no matter what the circumstances were - all it took was a studious smile and a convincing promise that he’d ‘ _never ever do it again_ ’.

He’d retrieved another lollipop from his pocket and began to suck on it as he crawled into bed, trailing his fingers carefully over the bump where his cut had been, and was currently protected by the school-tie Sebastian had tied around his arm to stop the bleed. After clamping the lollipop stick between his teeth Jim decided to remove the compress from around his arm, secretly curious to see what the wound looked like now that he was home and whether or not it had stopped bleeding. He managed to peel away the school-tie after numerous excessive grunts and winces, especially since the blood had practically glued the fabric to his skin while it was still sticky. After painstakingly removing the tie Jim tossed it to one side, and flicked on his bedside lamp so that he could get a better look at the damage caused.

The cut itself had stopped bleeding, but was covered in a pool of dried blood where Jim hadn’t had a chance to clean it yet. He trailed his finger across the flaky residue, his breath spiking with the occasional sharp gasp whenever he hit a particularly sensitive area.

Once he was satisfied he rolled over onto his side, pulling the lollipop back out from his mouth and proceeding to lick it mindlessly. This time it was blue raspberry instead of strawberry. It wasn’t Jim’s favourite flavour, but he’d been in a rush when he picked it up so he hadn’t had time to properly inspect the label. Nevertheless within minutes the raspberry lollipop had already stained both his tongue and lips bright blue in colour, and as he waggled his tongue back and forth Jim caught sight of the result out of the corner of his eye.

After finishing the sweet in question the raven-haired boy decided to get ready for bed, however before he even changed into his pyjamas he was forced to confront the bulge in his pocket from where he’d hastily stuffed the thirty pound notes. Sebastian had gotten his fair share too, half to spend on his rugby jersey while the other half left him free to do whatever he wanted. Jim hadn’t decided what he wanted to do with his money yet since he wasn’t on the rugby team, though his mind was already flooded with grand ideas of what he could treat himself to without anybody getting suspicious. Thirty pounds was certainly a luxury; he’d never had so much money before in his entire life, and now that he had it he was determined to be extra careful with it.

Jim slowly prized the notes from his coat pocket, straightening them out as best he could to rid them of any creases or lumps. He clambered up the wooden stepladder of his bed, perching cautiously on the edge of one of the steps as he attempted to reach over and grab the box that sat on top of his wardrobe. It was an old metal tin, where the striped paintwork had faded and the lid was virtually impossible to open. After three attempts Jim finally managed to separate the lid from the box, dusting the layer of dirt from the rim before balancing the little box carefully on the top of his lap. He’d never used it before, despite it having sat on top of the wardrobe for at least three solitary years. Jim couldn’t recall where he’d bought it from, although he had a feeling it had already been there when he’d first arrived at the house. Most of the items had been replaced during his time living with Kirstie and Brian, aside from the odd book or tea-towel that held some nice sentiment and was too important to throw away. One by one he placed the paper notes inside of the metal tin, carefully sealing the lid once he was finished and returning it back to its original spot on top of the wardrobe where nobody would find it. Proud of the hiding place he’d chosen, Jim hopped down from the stepladder and decided to go and brush his teeth, knowing that by doing so he’d soon return to Kirstie’s good books, and any anger towards him would quickly be forgotten about. He already knew he’d be forgiven by the morning, by which time he’d be free to buy whatever he wanted with his newfound prize money.


	18. Jim's Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After buying a new gadget with his reward money Jim is keen to show off. Sebastian struggles to deal with his guilt.

Sebastian didn’t get his tie back until the next day, by which time he’d already been handed a detention by one of the deputy headteachers for violating the school’s uniform policy.

The detention took place in Miss Trevors’ classroom at the end of the day, where Sebastian was forced to sit in silence for half-an-hour while Miss Trevors sat at her desk and marked the essays they’d completed earlier that afternoon. It wasn’t technically a detention; he’d been allowed to sit and read a book while waiting for the thirty minutes to pass, and had subsequently engrossed himself in his copy of Fantastic Mister Fox under the watchful eye of Miss Trevors. It was the same book they were currently reading in class, and right now Sebastian had reached the part where Mister Fox was devising a cunning plan to steal food for himself and his animal friends after becoming trapped underground.

By the time the thirty minutes were up he had already rocketed his way through several chapters, and was still in the midst of reading when Miss Trevors tapped him tentatively on the shoulder and explained he was allowed to leave. Sebastian arrived at the school gates a few minutes later with his bicycle in-tow, as well as in the possession of a small package which he had attempted to bundle into the main compartment of his schoolbag. Inside the package was his rugby jersey, one he had picked up earlier that morning with the number eight proudly emblazoned on the back. He’d visited the PE office before the start of lessons to hand over his fifteen pounds, and been handed his jersey by the coach who acknowledged him with a firm pat on the shoulder and an approving nod.

_“Don’t make me regret this, Moran, now’s your chance.”_

Yet again he’d seen Connor McKelly showing off his own jersey to his group of fascinated friends at lunchtime, but Jim had made a point of blowing a loud raspberry when they walked past which had distracted each of Connor’s friends and caused Connor to hurl a furious retort in their direction. Sebastian didn’t actually care about what Connor McKelly had to say. Most of the time Connor would purposefully try to rile him up in hopes that it would start a fight, but since the rugby tryouts Sebastian was determined to keep his temper under control, fearing that any outburst would get him instantly pulled from the team and result in his jersey getting revoked. Jim on the other-hand didn’t understand why Sebastian was suddenly being so patient, and usually interrogated the blond about it whenever they sat together during lunch.

“Why don’t you just hit him?” The raven-haired boy would ask when Connor and his friends were being particularly obnoxious, earning nothing but a dismissive grunt from Sebastian each time.  
  
“Can’t,” he spoke plainly in response. “I can’t get in anymore trouble.”

Sebastian decided to stop off at Jim’s house on his way home from school, and was pleased to discover that Kirstie was also there when she greeted him at the front-door wearing one of her usual cardigans. Upon entering he found Jim already sat on-top of one of the kitchen counters, wearing a set of battered headphones and fiddling with what looked to be an old cassette player in his hands. Sebastian got the impression that the cassette player was new judging by how delicate Jim was being while toying with it, which made him wonder whether Jim had made the purchase using his thirty pounds from the previous day.

“What is that?”

Jim tugged off his headphones when he heard the voice, grinning immediately at the realisation that it was Sebastian.

“A Walkman.”

“A Walk-what?”

“A Sony Walkman,” he reiterated, holding up the cassette player so that Sebastian could see it clearly. It was red, with the word ‘ _WALKMAN_ ’ imprinted boldly on the side in white lettering, alongside what looked to be a plastic tape firmly secured inside.

“I got it for cheap down at the record shop in town. I bought it while you were stuck at your stupid detention.”

Kirstie re-entered the kitchen shortly after Sebastian, and took one look at the cassette player before subtly shaking her head in disbelief.

“I still don’t know _how_ you got the money to buy that thing,” she spoke skeptically, eyeing the two boys with suspicion before tying up her apron and busying herself with the pile of unfinished laundry on the table.

Jim chose to ignore Kirstie’s comment, and opened the plastic Walkman up to reveal the tape hidden inside.

“Look,” he instructed eagerly, beckoning Sebastian over so that he could show him the tape. “The Bee Gees… It’s got all of their greatest hits.”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“That’s because you don’t like proper music,” Jim scolded him sternly, slotting the tape back into its designated spot and clicking shut the lid of the cassette player.

Once again there was no sign of Brian, which either meant he was still at work or he was at yet another doctor’s appointment. After setting his Walkman and headphones down on one side Jim hopped down from the countertop, landing nimbly on both feet and flashing Sebastian a smug grin when Kirstie wasn’t looking. She was far too busy tending to the pile of laundry to notice the look, where Sebastian could see his missing school lying on the very top of the mountain of clothes, this time without any blood on it.

“Is this your tie, Sebastian?” Kirstie queried as she sorted through the pile of washing, plucking out the tie and examining it thoughtfully.

With a wave of relief Sebastian quickly nodded, taking the tie and mumbling a sheepish ‘thank you’ as he shovelled it into his pocket for safekeeping. He could tell she was curious as to how it had ended up in the wash-basket, however thankfully before he was forced to make-up an explanation the older woman’s attention was diverted to the ironing board propped against the wall, and as she began to set it up a sudden idea sprung to Sebastian’s mind.

“Will you iron my rugby jersey, please?” He asked tentatively, watching as Kirstie stopped what she was doing and turned to face him. At once her expression softened, and with a gentle nod she beckoned for Sebastian to hand over the piece of clothing, watching as he foraged around in his backpack before carefully retrieving the bundle of fabric inside.

As soon as he passed it to her the older woman’s face lit up into a smile, and after a few long seconds of admiring the garment she carried it over to the ironing board, attempting to be as delicate as possible so that she didn’t accidentally ruin it.

“Oh, isn’t this impressive!”

Sebastian decided to stay and watch while Kirstie ironed his jersey, choosing to sit on one of the chairs at the kitchen table so that he could keep a close eye on things. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, because she was perhaps the only other person he trusted apart from Jim, only he was frightened at the possibility of something bad happening to his brand-new jersey. Sebastian was mostly worried about the heat of the iron, whether there was a chance that Kirstie might accidentally burn through a piece of fabric, or scorch the lettering on the back and ruin it entirely. He could see the continuous trail of steam rising from the top of the iron, and each time Kirstie pressed the metal plate down onto his rugby kit he felt his whole chest rise with anticipation.

“I’m sure you’ll catch all of the girls’ attention when you’re wearing this,” Kirstie chuckled from behind the ironing board, earning an indignant huff from Jim who was less than impressed by the prospect.

“No he won’t.” Jim had been listening in on the conversation from across the room, and up until now had refused to say a single word. “All the girls prefer Connor… Plus _everybody_ likes Connor, Sebastian’s lucky that he has me otherwise he’d be all alone.”

Sebastian took his jersey back from Kirstie once she had finished ironing, holding it up to his chest so that he could try and envision what he might look like wearing it.

“I want to make a good impression,” he explained when he noticed the other two people watching him, quickly lowering the shirt and folding it up neatly so that he could place it back into his schoolbag. “Do you think it’ll be okay?”

“Like I said, I think you’ll look very smart, Sebastian,” Kirstie assured him in a promising tone, her gaze following the jersey as it was lowered into Sebastian’s backpack. “Isn’t that right, James?”

“I think he looks handsome,” Jim stated boldly from the other side of the kitchen, grinning from ear to ear.

The older woman seemed relieved by Jim’s unexpected positivity, and smiled blissfully as she placed down the iron in her hand.

“You boys go and play upstairs, dinner will be a little later than usual.”

“We’re not staying for tea,” Jim corrected her abruptly, earning a surprised ‘ _oh_ ’ from Kirstie.

“You’re going?” She asked bemusedly. “But there’s apple crumble in the fridge, I thought it was your favourite.”

“Me and ‘Bastian are going to get chips, Mrs Phipps likes us so she always gives us extra.”

Kirstie sighed in defeat, looking momentarily to to the pots of food she had spent the afternoon preparing. Her brow furrowed as she surveyed the army of peeled potatoes bubbling on the stove, and after some heavy consideration she tore her gaze away and reluctantly nodded her head. One night wouldn’t hurt, she’d just have to store the leftovers in the fridge and save them for tomorrow.

“Alright, but you have to promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

“Why would we need to be safe?” Jim demanded. “We’re only getting chips.”

“There was a robbery at the corner shop last night,” Kirstie warned solemnly, massaging the side of her temple as she spoke. “Mister Hassan’s had to temporarily close, he says the police are trying to find the culprits… Teenage ruffians probably. But still, I don’t want you boys getting caught up in that sort of trouble.”

Both Jim and Sebastian froze when Kirstie explained what had happened to Mister Hassan and the corner shop, however it was Jim whose face turned a deathly shade of white at the revelation that the police were getting involved. They left in a hurry after that, barely managing to utter their goodbyes to the older woman before leaving the house and slamming the door promptly shut behind them. Sebastian managed to catch the look on Kirstie’s face just before they left, a sort of startled frown where she couldn’t quite work-out how to react, but before she had a chance to comment they were already out of the door and halfway down the street.

The chips from Mrs Phipps’ shop didn’t taste as nice as they normally did that evening. They were riddled with guilt, and as Sebastian attempted to pick apart his meal he found himself unable to stomach anything more than a tiny mouthful without his stomach filling with dread.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” He asked, watching as Jim dangled a limp chip in-front of his face and examined it, similarly having barely even touched his portion of food.

After collecting their takeaway dinner they’d ventured into the woods, more specifically to the fort where he and Jim had taken refuge inside the castle of tree branches. Sebastian was positioned by the entrance as a sort of guard dog, while Jim sat shielded behind him wrapped up in his raincoat. The floor of the woods was wet and muddy from the weeks of incessant rainfall, meaning that Sebastian had lent his coat to Jim to use as a blanket to stop his shoes and trousers from becoming dirty, and ultimately to stop Jim from complaining.

“Not hungry,” Jim sniffed, dropping the chip back into the bag with a measly thud and turning his attention to Sebastian.

Jim had used the last of his thirty pounds to pay for the two soggy portions of chips, which as expected Mrs Phipps had piled extra high. Usually he would have been grateful for such an amount, but today the sight of the soggy, grease-ladened chips was making him feel sick, and he almost regretted not staying home and eating the apple crumble Kirstie had baked.

“We need to go back to the corner shop,” he announced suddenly, getting to his feet and earning a disbelieving stare from the blond.

“Are you mental?” Sebastian demanded, looking up at Jim as if he’d just proclaimed that the world was ending. “We can’t go back there, Mister Hassan will spot us!”

“Your scarf’s still there,” the raven-haired boy explained, clambering out from the muddy entrance of the fort and stepping aside for the taller boy to join him. “That’s evidence, ‘Bastian. That’s how people go to jail.”

Sebastian re-emerged soon after, hastily tugging his raincoat back on and brushing away the leaves that had glued themselves to his sleeves. He had given in not because he wanted to, but because the prospect of going to jail scared him even more than the prospect of disobeying Jim’s orders. If his scarf was still in the corner shop then there was a high chance that the police had already found it, and if the police had his scarf then he’d never get it back. He’d also never get to play in his first ever rugby match if the police did decide to throw him in jail, which alone was enough to make Sebastian’s spine shiver. Instead they’d turn up to his house in the middle of the night with sirens and flashing lights, or at least that’s what he assumed would happen if the films they sometimes showed on television were correct.

It was still light by the time they arrived at the corner shop, only unlike their other visits this time there was a police car parked directly outside, and two police officers stood interviewing a shaken-looking Mister Hassan.

‘There were two children,’ Sebastian could hear Mister Hassan explaining to one of the police officers, a middle-aged man with a scraggly beard and a notepad. ‘One tall and one short. They broke into my shop and stole my cigarettes. When I caught them they tried to flee… Thugs, I’m telling you… One of them fell and smashed the jar of confectioneries I keep on my counter. I couldn’t keep up with them after that, I’m not as young as I used to be, I get chest pains.’

“They look too old to be policemen,” Sebastian hissed from wall they were hiding behind, his brow furrowing as he tried to watch whatever the first police officer was writing down in his notepad.

“D’you see your scarf?” asked Jim hopefully, who was wobbling precariously on the tips of his toes as he tried to see above the brick wall, his entire face scrunched up in concentration.

Even as he tried to get a better look Sebastian could see the evident pain on Jim’s face from where his arm hadn’t properly healed yet. A part of him felt bad the more he noticed Jim’s arm quivering in discomfort, and he would’ve suggested that they give up and go home if the matter wasn’t so urgent. According to Jim the cut on his arm was almost healed, although Sebastian had a feeling he wasn’t telling the entire truth. The cut he’d sustained was deep, not enough to need a doctor, but deep enough that it was going to leave behind a nasty scar. The blond still felt guilty for not having protected Jim the previous night, but judging by Jim’s reluctant silence he didn’t want to talk about it just yet.

“There it is.”

Sebastian’s voice cut through the thick tension shrouding the air and he pointed towards the side of the police car, where in a box his scarf sat crumpled in a heap right at the very bottom. He could tell it was his scarf because the tassels were frayed and the red fabric was worn, and immediately he felt his body calm with relief at the realisation that the scarf was practically in reaching distance, just as long as they didn’t get caught by the two police officers stood by the door.

“How are we going to get it?”

Jim’s dark eyes scanned methodically between the door to the shop and the scarf, trying to calculate a way in which they could grab it without being spotted. Thankfully within seconds the interview appeared to have ended, and both Mister Hassan and the two police officers disappeared back inside the shop to collect the final box of evidence they had gathered. There was only a short space of time before they returned, in which Jim daringly snuck out from behind the wall, crouching down beside the box of belongings and rummaging around until he found Sebastian’s scarf. Since he was so small it was easy for Jim to hide behind the side of the police car, and after successfully retrieving the piece of wool he quickly scampered back to the safety of the wall where the blond was waiting anxiously, right before the two police officers returned.

_“Thank you for your help, Mister Hassan, we’ll get back to you soon.”_

It wasn’t until the police car had turned the corner and driven away that Jim stood up again, brushing the collection of dirt from his trousers and handing the scarf back to Sebastian. The blond was quick to take it, checking to make sure that the scarf wasn’t damaged in any way before slipping it around his neck and carefully adjusting it. He looked up only at the sound of Jim’s foot tapping against the ground, and upon raising his head he was greeted by the sight of the raven-haired boy stood with his arms folded boldly across his chest.

“Well?” Jim chimed in a sing-song voice. “You need better manners, ‘Bastian.”

“Oh… right,” Sebastian mumbled in a flustered voice. “Thanks, Jim.”

The smaller boy tilted his head coyly to one side.

“And?..”

At first Sebastian didn’t understand what Jim was talking about, until he realised that the smaller boy’s stare was fixated upon his lips. Clumsily Sebastian leant forward, pressing a brief kiss to Jim’s lips before swiftly pulling away again. When he did pull away he noticed the smug smile that had twisted across the corners of Jim’s mouth, as well as the twinkle in the boy’s ebony eyes which lit up his entire face. Jim then proceeded to lick his lips, as if to savour the taste, until finally once he was satisfied they began to make their way back to the house, just as the sky around them began to thicken with grey clouds.

The first hints of Spring were beginning to appear now, from the occasional yellow dandelion poking out from the grass beds, to the trees which were very slowly starting to blossom. Spring was late this year, mostly thanks to the terrible weather that had plagued them since Christmas. Sebastian was secretly looking forward to the change in seasons; as the weather warmed it meant that rugby practices would be a little less unbearable, and after Spring came Summer which meant it would be his birthday. This year however he wasn’t very excited about his birthday. Turning eleven meant the start of secondary school, and while he tried to convince himself that he was excited in truth he was absolutely terrified. He’d have to wear a red blazer just like Pip and the rest of the older children, and take the bus every morning at half-seven since the school was on the other side of town. Starting secondary school also meant leaving Jim behind, something he was trying not to think about too much.

“They shouldn’t find us now,” Jim hummed as they walked down the road, his hands cemented inside his pockets as he admired the growing rainclouds. “It was dark so Mister Hassan wouldn’t have seen our faces… Besides he’s old. Old people forget everything.”

Sebastian, although he wasn’t entirely convinced, nodded along to Jim’s words of reassurance anyway. He looked down to the scarf hung around his neck, a small frown creasing his brow.

“And Pip won’t snitch on us?”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Jim replied confidently. “And if he does then I know how to make him regret it.”

They were nearing Grosvenor Street when Sebastian noticed Jim reach into his pocket, and pull out what appeared to be his Walkman from earlier. As he slipped his headphones over his ears and proceeded to fiddle around with the tape player the blond couldn’t help but watch in curiosity, especially at the look of apparent joy on Jim’s face when the music began to flood through the speakers of his headphones.

“How much did it cost?” He asked, gesturing towards the Walkman in the boy’s pale grasp.

Jim removed his headphones momentarily, enough that Sebastian was able to hear what he was listening to. The music sounded odd, not the type of music he would listen to himself, then again it didn’t surprise him at all. Sebastian remembered in the kitchen when Jim had told him about the tape, recalling that it was ‘ _The Bee Gees Greatest Hits_ ’. He’d still never heard of them before, but judging by the delighted expression on Jim’s face they must have been at least some part good.

“Twenty eight pounds. It’s an old one, apparently it was the last in stock,” the raven-haired boy explained, passing the battered headphones over to Sebastian so that he could listen.

Sebastian lifted the headphones over his head, where he was greeted immediately by an array of heavy synths and high-pitched voices, all repeating the same upbeat chorus.

_‘Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother_

_You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive_

_Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'_

_And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive_

_Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive…’_

After removing the headphones Jim was quick to retract them, slipping them back over his own head so that he could enjoy the final few seconds of the song without interruption.

“This is the best one,” he decided once the song had eventually finished, slotting the Walkman comfortably back into his pocket and continuing to walk. “Once I have enough pocket money then I’m going to buy Freddie Mercury’s new album, it comes out next month.”

“I’ve heard him on the radio,” Sebastian revealed, feeling admittedly proud of himself for knowing who Jim was talking about. “The boys in my class talk about him, they reckon he likes boys.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Jim demanded, causing Sebastian to hastily defend himself.

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” he protested. “It’s none of my business if he likes boys or girls.”

“I like him,” Jim then continued abruptly, causing Sebastian’s cheeks to suddenly redden in surprise.

“Who? Freddie Mercury?”

“He’s pretty,” Jim agreed. “Like you, but different.”

By the time they reached the house dinner must have already been served, as the smell of roast beef and gravy was there to greet them as soon as they stepped foot inside the hallway. The smell alone was enough to make Sebastian’s mouth water, and made him almost jealous that he and Jim had missed out, but since the sky was beginning to darken it meant that it was time for him to go home anyway.

His head was still reeling from what Jim had told him prior, mostly the fact that the raven-haired boy had actually admitted to actually liking somebody. The other boys at school didn’t understand Jim, not the way Sebastian did at least, so he doubted Jim had told his secret to anybody else yet, not even Kirstie. The older woman was there to wave goodbye to him as he finished packing his schoolbag and lingered by the front-door, her lips curled into a warm smile as she adorned her usual polka-dot apron. Jim was stood behind her, a bowl of what looked like cold apple crumble in his hands as he eyed Sebastian closely. He hadn’t said anything, but Sebastian was consciously-aware that the raven-haired boy’s stare hadn’t moved since they’d first entered the house, almost as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t in the presence of the older woman.

“You’ll be alright walking home on your own, won’t you?”

Despite her smile Kirstie’s tone sounded worried, to the point where even Jim was beginning to grow annoyed.

“Sebastian isn’t a baby, he can look after himself,” he sniffed scornfully in return, earning an embarrassed grimace from Sebastian who quickly nodded his head.

“I’ll be okay.”

“Of course you will,” the older woman apologised. “After all, you’re all grown-up now… Almost eleven, I guess you’ll be going to secondary school this year?”

Sebastian’s posture stiffened at the mention of secondary school, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted the envious twitch in Jim’s eye.

“September,” he agreed, as if saying the month aloud would make it seem further away than it actually was.

Kirstie rubbed her hands together and practically beamed with pride.

“Oh I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time. You’ll have to show me your school uniform when you get it.”

She stopped only upon noticing the sullen look on Jim’s face, and immediately her expression softened. She could tell that the subject of moving schools was still highly sensitive, to Jim and also to Sebastian, who was evidently trying to keep his expression neutral. Her response was simply to offer a sympathetic smile, and watch as Sebastian stepped over the threshold and out onto the street outside, where she was forced to remind herself that he wasn’t still the shy eight-year-old she had first met. A lot had changed since then, everything apart from how close Jim and Sebastian were to one another.

“Good luck for next week, dear.”

“Hm?”

“Your first rugby practice,” she spoke again, her smile once more returning. “I hope it all goes well.”


	19. Top Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise encounter sets to ruin Sebastian's first rugby practice, however conflict arises when Jim doesn't seem to understand why.

On the day of his first practice Sebastian woke up feeling sick, after having barely slept a wink the previous night. The minimal amount of sleep he’d managed had been disturbed, resulting in a night of relentless tossing and turning in which Sebastian couldn’t seem to relax, his head constantly pouring with endless worries and doubts of what was to come. He was in the bathroom two hours earlier than usual that morning, at a time when even the birds had only just started their daily chirping and the tarmacked street outside was filled with a pale orange glow. In total it took him over an hour to change into his school uniform and comb his hair, and an extra twenty minutes to brush his teeth until the only thing he could taste was the cheap minty paste rubbing against the top of his tongue.

When he made his way downstairs Sebastian had with him his schoolbag, as well as a small duffel bag he’d used once while camping with his scout pack, big enough to store all of the rugby kit he’d need for that afternoon. Inside he’d crammed his shorts, socks, and trainers, as well as the blue and white jersey he’d placed carefully on top to stop it from getting creased. The trainers were the only thing he hadn’t bought specially; they were merely his own trainers, since new ones had been too expensive to buy and would have required the blond to travel all the way down to the high-street which in itself was an hour bus journey. Sebastian planned on saving up his pocket money to buy a new pair eventually, although his current shoes weren’t too tattered, and would probably survive another few months as long as he looked after them.

After reaching the bottom of the staircase he entered the kitchen with a thumping headache, only to discover to his surprise that he was no longer the only person in the house. At the table sat his father, who must have arrived while he was still fussing around in the bathroom, dressed in a vest and shorts and flicking through a copy of the morning paper, a cigarette clamped firmly between his teeth. He looked better than he had the last time Sebastian had seen him, cleaner, and without the tedious stench of alcohol. His eyes flicked up from the newspaper at the sound of approaching footsteps, and at the sight of the blond in his school uniform the man immediately raised an eyebrow.

“Morning, kid.”

“You’re home.”

Sebastian stood awkwardly in the threshold of the kitchen, unsure how to react to the sight of his father sat at the kitchen table, almost as if nothing had happened. It was one of those rare occasions where his father was alone and not surrounded by his intolerable friends, and for the first time in months it seemed as though the man was actually sober instead of just pretending to be. After studying the man scrupulously up and down Sebastian finally dared to venture inside, dumping his bags down onto the tiled surface and opening the fridge to retrieve a carton of milk, staring at it for a few seconds before deciding that he felt too sick for breakfast. Instead he promptly closed the fridge door, and turned to where his father was still watching him expectantly. Sebastian almost wished the older man would stop staring; it was a guilty look, like his father knew what he’d done was wrong and was desperately trying to compensate for it. As he sat down opposite from him Sebastian made a conscious effort to try and ignore the man’s face, instead distracting himself with his school shoes while his father watched helplessly on.

“I thought we could go out tonight,” he spoke again, trying to divert Sebastian’s attention away from the shoelaces he was irritably trying to lace up. “I could take you to the cinema, we haven’t done that in a while.”

“Can’t, I’m busy.”

In his frustration Sebastian lost control of the shoelace he was tying, accidentally pulling too hard and snapping off the string. With a growl he stuffed the broken lace into his pocket and looked up again, only to notice that his father had spotted the duffel bag by the door and was eyeing it with evident curiosity.

“It's a big bag for-”

“I have rugby tonight,” Sebastian interjected gruffly, getting to his feet and reaching for the two bags by the door. “I got accepted onto the team, it means we have to practice every week until our first match.”

When there came no response from his father Sebastian simply assumed it meant that the older man had lost interest, however when he looked up to face him he was suddenly aware of how different his father looked from their last encounter. The last time he’d seen him look so smart had been years ago; judging by the length of his hair he’d had a haircut, his shoes were polished, and the scented cologne he was wearing replaced the horrible stench of beer he usually carried home with him. In-fact his father resembled an entirely different man all apart from his face, which was still just as warm as it had been when Sebastian’s mother had still been around. Granted the years hadn’t been kind to him, but despite the tired eyes and faded tattoos the man was still very much his father. He’d never been a clever man, but even when it was just the two of them living at home he’d always tried his best to make things better, even if it meant gifting Sebastian a hideous, pink girls’ bike for his eighth birthday. That man was the same one currently sitting at the table, even if sometimes it was near-impossible to tell.

The silence lasted for almost ten seconds until it was eventually broken by Sebastian’s father, who, despite his hesitance, seemed determined to speak whatever idea was currently gnawing at the back of his mind.

“I’ll give you a lift.”

“What d’you mean?”

“To school,” the bearded man suggested gingerly. “It’s going to rain, let me drive you to school otherwise you’ll get wet.”

Sebastian’s automatic response was to say no, especially since Jim would be furious if he failed to turn up on his bike that morning. His father must have noticed his reluctance and proceeded to tap out the cigarette in his hand, crushing the burning embers against the glass of the ashtray in-front of him as he tried to think of another means of persuasion.

“…And I’ll pick you up afterwards.”

“Only if Jim can come too.”

“Jim?”

“My friend,” Sebastian reiterated bluntly. “He’s in the year below and he’ll get annoyed if I don’t go with him.”

“Well… I was hoping you and I could catch up a little. After all I haven’t seen you for a long time, kid, I want to hear all about your rugby.”

“If Jim isn’t coming with us then I won’t either. He takes special medicine to stop him from getting sad, it means I have to look after him.”

In the end Sebastian’s commands had worked, and Jim was collected from outside of his house in the dishevelled blue van his father owned. The van had belonged to his father ever since Sebastian could remember, not counting the numerous times it had been taken away after he had failed to pay for it. Usually Sebastian would have taken the passenger seat, but since Jim was there too it meant he’d squashed himself into the backseat to be with his friend, secretly glad that he wouldn’t be forced to make any awkward small-talk with his father. At first Jim hadn’t understood why Sebastian’s father was driving them both to school; he’d been standing impatiently outside of his house when the blue van emerged, and been even more skeptical when Sebastian explained that the man in the driver’s seat was in-fact his father. After a few suspicious glares towards the man in the front seat Jim had eventually complied, clambering into the backseat of the van to sit beside Sebastian. From the window of Jim’s house Sebastian could see the curtains moving slightly, and although he couldn’t see who was behind them he had a strong feeling it was Kirstie watching them.

Sebastian didn’t say much on the journey to school. The closer they approached the more anxious he found himself becoming, made even worse by the throbbing headache his lack of sleep had resulted in. As they veered onto the main road his father decided to make matters even worse by turning the stereo on. Despite it being early morning the van soon became filled with the sound of the morning radio, where the weeks of stormy weather had taken an unfortunate toll on the connection. Every few seconds they would hear a part of a song, but for the most part the music was buried beneath a series of painful hisses and crackles, which grew so unbearable that in the end Sebastian’s father had no choice but to turn the stereo off entirely. They completed the rest of the car journey in silence, until eventually the dreary outskirts of the school grounds came into sight, and Sebastian felt his stomach knot with a sudden wave of sickness.

“You can drop us off here.”

“But the school’s only a road away,” his father insisted, drawing to a steady halt at the side of the road, a few feet away from the school gates. “It’s no trouble, I can drop you off at the gate with the rest of the boys.”

“Here is fine,” Sebastian continued firmly, hastily opening the door to the van and climbing out, accompanied in-turn by Jim who quickly scooped up his backpack and Walkman before following Sebastian out onto the damp pavement.

When the van pulled away from the curb and turned the corner the blond managed a small sigh of relief, but it wasn’t long until Jim rounded on him, his pale face plastered with confusion.

“I thought you said your dad went away again?”

“He was in the kitchen when I came downstairs,” Sebastian grunted bitterly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he trudged towards the large crowd of students swarming the entrance. “He must’ve come back this morning.”

Jim was silent as he walked beside the taller boy, his face still scrunched up as he tried to process it all. He glanced back to where the van had been stationed only a few seconds ago, his brow furrowing as he turned back to Sebastian and struggled to catch up.

“He looked-"

“-Clean, I know.”

Sebastian huffed irritably, pushing his way through a huddle of first years outside of the gate and earning a subsequent chorus of yelps as they attempted to scramble out of his way. One of the perks of being the oldest in the school was the fact that he towered over the younger years, who practically all hid whenever they saw him marching down the corridor. He especially liked it because it meant the other boys didn’t pick on Jim so much; his reputation for getting into fights ensured that everybody else knew to stay clear of him, and by sticking to the raven-haired boy’s side it meant that nobody made fun of Jim either. Since the start of the year Sebastian had grown undeniably proud of his height, however he had a feeling it would no longer give him the same advantage when it came to starting secondary school. One of his biggest fears was becoming a target and not being able to defend himself properly. He’d already caught glimpses of the boys in the year above him, the majority of whom were twice the size of him, and it’d made him realise that he wasn’t ready to give up his position of top dog just yet.

“If he’s clean then why are you so cross? Isn’t that a good thing?” Questioned Jim as they approached the line for Sebastian’s class. The raven-haired boy wasn’t technically supposed to be there, but he was hovering by the edge just in-case one of the teachers spotted him and he needed to make a quick escape.

“I’m not cross,” Sebastian tried to lie, however Jim was quick to see past his deception.

“You are,” he protested back. “You can’t lie to me, ‘Bastian. You’re a terrible liar, I can see it written all over your face.”

The blond bit down on his tongue, realising his mistake and reluctantly deciding to correct himself. Sometimes he hated how clever Jim was, more specifically how easily the raven-haired boy saw through everything. It was like a gift, only it was proving to be far more irritating than actually admirable.

“I dunno,” he confessed finally, staring down towards the floor where he’d caught sight of his reflection in one of the puddles. “Maybe… I just wish he’d stop pretending that everything’s still the same. He doesn’t even talk about Ma anymore, it’s like she doesn’t exist.”

Sebastian couldn’t recall the last time he’d spoken or even thought about his mother, and it made sense why when his chest suddenly filled with a painful ache. The pang of longing was one he’d tried his best to bury over the years, but somehow kept reemerging like an irritating rash. As time passed Sebastian had gradually stopped talking about his mother, from asking about her whereabouts at Christmas to sifting through the pile of birthday cards he received every year in hopes that he might find her handwriting on one of the envelopes, but still he couldn’t help but secretly wonder about her sometimes. Unlike his father Sebastian didn’t want to simply forget about the woman, after all she _had_ been his mother. But it was becoming increasingly hard to keep her memory alive when all traces of her had been removed from the house. The only thing the blond had left was the photograph he kept on his bedside table; all the other photographs had either been burnt or thrown in the bin before Sebastian had had a chance to salvage them, along with the Summer dress his mother had once owned and the tray of makeup she often kept by her bedside for when she wanted to dress up nicely. On occasion Sebastian would become angry at himself for not having saved any of his mother’s old belongings, but with the hope she would one day return his anger never usually lasted for more than a day at most.

“Maybe he’s hiding something,” Jim suggested, his voice bubbling with excitement at the prospect.

At first Sebastian hadn’t heard Jim’s conspiracy, it was only when he snapped out of his daze that he realised the smaller boy was talking to him. A tired grunt escaped his lips as he caught on to what Jim had said, however he quickly shook his head in a feeble attempt to shut his counterpart up. His head was still pounding from the night before, the last thing he wanted was to have to deal with the sensitive subject of his father. But unfortunately it seemed Jim hadn’t picked up on any of his subtle hints.

“Jim, don’t.”

“Maybe he knows something about your Ma. Maybe he-”

“I told you to shut up!”

Sebastian’s shout burst through the playground before he could stop himself, the insult pouring out of his mouth in a sudden, unexpected fit of rage. In his midst of anger he could feel his headache getting worse, and before he could stop himself he shouted a second time:

“Just because you’re smart it doesn’t mean you know everything!”

The line of children fell immediately quiet at Sebastian’s sudden outburst, earning the attention of Mrs Graham who had just stepped out of the staff room to see what all the noise was about. It didn’t take a genius to work out where the problem was coming from, and a disapproving tut escaped her lips when she spotted Sebastian amongst the crowd, red-faced and quivering from head to toe in anger. Mrs Graham was known for being one of the stricter members of staff, and as she marched down the playground a noticeable hush fell over the boys in Sebastian’s class, who had all stopped whispering to each-other so that they could watch what happened next. Their stares followed after Mrs Graham as she stopped abruptly in-front of Sebastian, placing a stern hand against his left shoulder and steering him away from the crowd.

“Time out, Sebastian, go and stand by the wall until you’ve calmed down.”

In a fleeting motion Sebastian stormed from the line, tugging away from the teacher’s grip and emitting a string of furious swear words as he did so. He didn’t bother looking back as made his way over to the wall. His head was still spinning from his lack of sleep, only this time he felt sicker than before, and was almost worried that he might accidentally throw up on the playground floor. His trainers scuffed to a stubborn halt as he stopped in-front of the row of bricks, and although his back was turned he could hear the steady patter of footsteps from where the rest of his class were beginning to file inside. When he did glance back he realised with a pang of dismay that Jim was also no longer there, and when he turned to check the line for Jim’s class he spotted a wave of raven-coloured hair being escorted inside along with his own class.

It was five minutes in total before Sebastian was allowed inside by a sympathetic Miss Trevors, by which time lessons had already begun and the playground was completely deserted. He completed the walk of shame up to his classroom, where he was greeted by a multitude of curious stares as soon as he stepped through the door, the majority of which were coming from Connor McKelly and his group of friends who had started to whisper amongst each other. After making a beeline towards his own table Sebastian hastily took a seat, keeping his head low and refusing to utter a single word for the rest of the morning, throughout which he was consciously-aware of the continuous stares Connor was directing towards him. Sebastian would have gladly hurled his pencil-case at the boy’s head if it meant getting him to go away, but for the most part he remained hunched over the table uncomfortably, not looking up unless it was to sharpen his pencil or to watch whatever Miss Trevors was writing on the board. As the hours ticked by Sebastian’s anger slowly began to dissipate, replacing itself instead with apprehension as the thought of practice later that day loomed over his head. The thought of apologising to Jim didn’t even cross his mind as he returned to the playground later that day for lunch, only to discover that Jim was already occupied on one of the far-away benches with his headphones glued to his ears, his Walkman also balanced carefully on his lap.

As a result by the end of the day Sebastian still hadn’t managed to make peace with Jim, who wasn’t even there when Sebastian checked his classroom after lessons had ended. Ordinarily he would have lingered around the playground in hopes of spotting the smaller boy, but since he needed to get dressed the blond had no choice but to skulk away to the changing rooms withouteven waiting to see if Jim was still there. Theoretically he shouldn’t have been nervous, especially since he’d already earned his place on the team, but for some reason as the laughter and voices of his other teammates came into earshot he found himself growing increasingly uneasy. He wanted to focus on rugby but his mind was still swimming with guilt and resentment over Jim and his father, and as he arrived outside of the changing rooms Sebastian was forced to take a few steady breaths before reluctantly pushing open the door and forcing himself inside.

To his dismay the changing room was already filled with boys sporting identical blue and white jerseys, some of whom were still lacing up their shoelaces while the majority had already finished getting dressed and were speculating about what the practice might entail. For the first time Sebastian could properly see who had made it onto the team. The boys he didn’t recognise were all in the year below him, while the boys he did recognise all comprised of Connor and his friends. Keen to avoid any unwanted confrontation Sebastian traipsed his way to the back of the room towards the only unoccupied bench, dumping his bag down and beginning to strip off his uniform. He was halfway through getting dressed when he heard the first taunt from one of the neighbouring benches, and turned to find Jack O’Donavan pretending to adjust his socks to make it seem like he hadn’t said the comment. Thankfully as soon as Sebastian glared at him Jack quickly turned away, and the blond was able to finish buttoning up his shirt in peace before it was time for them to file out onto the pitch. He found himself squashed between two nervous-looking boys from the year below as they stood waiting outside, and had to try his hardest not to accidentally step on any of their toes to prevent them from flying into even more of a panic. It hadn't rained like the weather forecast had predicted, though the field was still covered in a sea of thick, cold mud - mud that would've sent Jim into a germ frenzy if he'd been there.

Mister Stevens led practice that afternoon. Sebastian couldn’t help but notice that he was in a strangely good mood, or perhaps because it was their first practice he had decided to go easy on them all. They spent the afternoon learning the rules of the game and the different ways to tackle and score a goal, until when five o’clock rolled around they were all dismissed and allowed back to the changing rooms to shower. Admittedly Sebastian had enjoyed the practice; under the scrutiny of Mister Stevens he’d tried kicking the ball through the goalposts several times, however he’d quickly found that his main strength was tackling the other players. Midway through the practice he’d used his energy on Connor, who he still hadn’t forgiven for sneering at him earlier in the classroom, wrapping his arms around his legs and plummeting him to the mud-soaked ground while he was busy focusing on the ball. In-turn Mister Stevens had compared Sebastian to a tiger - the way in which he waited for the ideal moment to pounce before furiously taking down his opponent, who in this case happened to be a now-humiliated Connor. The blond didn’t mind the comparison, in-fact being compared to that of a majestic tiger filled him with an undeniable sense of pride, and reminded him of the time he’d visited the tiger enclosure at London Zoo with Jim’s family. According to Mister Stevens they’d be spending the next few weeks preparing for their first match, which meant in order to take home the trophy they needed to be on-time to every practice otherwise they’d face being kicked from the team.

The atmosphere inside of the changing rooms was different now that the first practice had finished. As Sebastian returned he noticed how much more relaxed everybody seemed, how theboys who had been anxious at the start were now happily chatting away to one another as they changed back into their school clothes. The changing room floor was caked with mud and stray strands of grass, accompanied by the gentle hum of the shower taps as a few other boys seized the opportunity to clean off. Sebastian had to admit that showering sounded inviting; not only was he covered from head to toe in mud but his face and back were also drenched in hot sweat, meaning that even as he left the pitch he was uncomfortably-aware of the fabric of his shirt clinging to his skin. He decided to splash his face with water a couple of times to try and clean the excess of dirt, using the tap from one of the sinks and substituting the cleaner sleeve of his jersey as a towel. Unlike the other boys Sebastian chose not to mill around and discuss the upcoming match. After shovelling his school clothes away into his duffel bag he attempted to leave as quickly as possible, not before he spotted Jack and Connor watching him again.  
  
“Where are you going, Sebastian?” Jack taunted, while Sebastian stopped in his tracks and warily clenched his jaw, waiting for the inevitable insult.

But he couldn’t lash out. If he lashed out he’d be off the team, so he needed to calm himself down.

“Why’d you care?” He grunted back in response. “Are you still pissed because you didn’t score any goals?”

Jack, who had failed abysmally at everything that afternoon and been mocked by Mister Stevens for being the slowest runner in the group, glowered furiously at Sebastian’s question and uttered a bitter string of swear words under his breath.

“You won’t be here for long, you know,” he retorted. “Everybody knows you’re crazy, you’ll kill someone soon enough and then they’ll finally lock you up for good.”

The blond looked at Connor, who was watching on in amusement, before back at Jack whose lips had spread into a shit-eating grin. He’d bitten down on his tongue so hard that he’d started to draw blood, and if he didn’t leave soon enough he had a feeling he’d give in to his rising anger and punch the stupid grin clean off of Jack’s face. Without another word he picked his duffel bag back up and left the changing rooms, making his way out towards the school gates where he spotted the familiar blue van again, only this time it was parked opposite from the gate.

Sebastian was surprised that his father had remembered his promise to pick him up, let alone the fact that he was even still there. His father was lent against the side of the van with a lit cigarette between his fingers, and promptly flicked it onto the ground when he noticed the blond coming towards him. After crushing the butt of the cigarette with his heel he proceeded to smile, opening the door of the van so that Sebastian could clamber inside.

“Well? How was it?” His father prompted, climbing into the driver’s seat beside him and turning on the engine.

It was hard to tell when the van had last been repaired properly; as the engine turned on a terrible rumble sounded from the bonnet, and for a few seconds the van juddered and growled forebodingly as if the poor vehicle was about to combust. Thankfully after his father pressed his foot down upon the pedal the noises seemed to cease, and as they turned the corner Sebastian watched as the foggy silhouette of the school disappeared behind them. He allowed himself to sink back against his seat, kicking off his muddy shoes and stifling a short yawn, trying to disguise it with the back of his hand and failing miserably. The two hours of rugby had worn him out enormously, to the point where he would’ve happily fallen asleep right there in the van. However even as he stared out of the window at the passing traffic Sebastian could still sense his father staring at him, and his suspicions were confirmed when the older man spoke up again, clearly determined to get an answer out of the blond.

“I’m sorry for leaving, Sebastian, if that’s why you won’t talk to me.”

If it hadn’t been for the use of his first name Sebastian probably wouldn’t have heard the man, and would have continued fixating on the traffic outside. In a heartbeat he tore his attention away from the window, turning to his father with a bewildered, almost stunned, frown. His mouth was agape slightly as he stared at the man, whose gaze was still fixed upon the road as he steered, before he sunk back against his seat and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“You never call me by my first name.”

At first Sebastian’s father didn’t respond, he simply steered the van onto the main road and stopped at the set of red traffic lights in-front of them.

“I know I’ve let you down,” he explained while waiting for the lights to turn green, uncomfortably clearing his throat. “When your mother left I thought I could manage, I thought everything would be the same as it was… The truth is I’ve broken all of my promises, kid, I should have been there for you and I wasn’t.”

Sebastian sat with his head bowed, nibbling nervously on the bottom of his lip while the glaring red glow of the traffic lights seeped into the van. He could feel a thick lump forming in his throat,the type of lump that only arose whenever he couldn’t quite find the right words to say. The silence in the car was deafening, and was broken only when the traffic lights changed colour, and the various rumbles of the surrounding car engines sounded once more. His father too was being awfully quiet, his face sluggish and riddled with guilt as he stared at the road ahead of him. But once again Sebastian couldn’t smell anything strange, which meant his father’s sobriety must have carried on throughout the day.

“…You don’t have to talk to me, Seb. Just know I’m proud of you, I always have been. You’ve always been a trooper.”

For the first time since the start of the journey Sebastian emitted a troubled sigh, his head swarming with all different types of conflicting thoughts. Mostly he just wanted to get out of the van and walk the rest of the way home by himself, but his legs felt like jelly from all the running he’d done, and if he walked home he wouldn’t arrive until nighttime. However there was a tiny part of his brain that wanted to forgive his father, made even larger when his father suddenly revealed that he was proud of him.

“How can I trust you?” He croaked finally, the spite in his voice filling the entirety of the van. “You always say you’re going to stay and you never do.”

His father didn’t respond immediately, he just gripped to the steering wheel as tightly as he could.

“I’ve quit my job,” the man then revealed abruptly, causing Sebastian to stop and stare. “The friends I used to bring back from the pub with me, you won’t see them anymore, they’re gone.”

“Gone?” Sebastians brow furrowed uncertainly. “But I don’t understand.”

“I did bad things for money, things that could have gotten me arrested. But I’ve stopped dealing, I’ve stopped it all now and I’ve vowed never to touch it again. It means I’ll have to go back to the job centre and look for work again, but I’ll be there to cook your tea every night and drive you to your rugby matches. How does that sound?”

When they turned the corner onto Grosvenor Street Sebastian was still trying to process what his father had told him, from the revelation that he’d quit his job to the promise that his horrible friends would no longer be visiting the house. The latter excited Sebastian more than he cared to admit, just as long as it wasn’t merely his father lying again in order to try and earn his trust. But when he looked towards the driver’s seat he recognised the look in his father’s eyes. It was the same look he’d had in his eyes after his Ma had left. And as if by magic Sebastian felt like that confused eight-year-old again, sat watching his father helplessly as he wobbled dangerously close to the edge, threatening to spiral into the abyss. Only this time he wasn’t going to fall again, because Sebastian was going to save him.

“Good,” he mumbled feebly. “It sounds good.”

They both stepped out of the van after parking it on the corner, Sebastian’s father grabbing his duffel bag and backpack so that the ten-year-old wouldn’t have to endure the burn of carrying them. The older man was smiling now, something Sebastian hadn’t seen him do in a long time, and as he closed the car door behind him Sebastian could feel his lips etching into a smile too. It felt like electricity was flowing through him, filling him up with a wave of excitement beyond all comprehension. Even after the exhausting day he’d had he still felt happy, despite his sweat-covered brow and the mud stains caking his knees and ankles. If his father really was going to stay then it meant he’d been right - the man wasn’t a villain after all, like he had been determined to prove to everybody time and time again even when nobody wanted to listen to him.

But then he remembered something he needed to do, something extremely important that had completely slipped his mind during rugby practice.

“How about I take you out for dinner once you’ve showered? The cafe on the high-street’s open until seven.”

“Okay, but can we stop by number thirty six? I need to say sorry to someone first.”


	20. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When something happens to Jim Sebastian is determined to visit his friend.

Jim’s bunk bed was only six feet high, which meant even if he did decide to throw himself off the top the most he’d endure would be a broken arm, hardly a means for him to successfully plummet to his death. He’d spent the afternoon poised on the edge of his bed, dangling his legs freely beneath him while he contemplated the numerous different ways of hurting himself, more specifically the ways in which he could make Sebastian Moran feel bad for ruining his day. So far he’d comprised a list in his head, from standing outside on the road and waiting for a car to hit him, to using his school-tie to tie around his neck to hang himself with. He’d learnt over the years that people only tended to pay attention when he hurt himself. When he’d been living with his previous foster family he’d purposely tried to cut open his skin with a pair of scissors after being made to go to bed early one night, only when they’d found out the young couple looking after him had screamed and called for an ambulance, and the very next day after his hospital discharge he’d been sent straight back to the children’s home again. Jim still had the scar; it was just above the freckle on his right wrist, and was only visible if you looked very closely underneath the light of a lamp. In his file at the children’s home they’d simply labelled it in his notes as the depression, but he still didn’t know what that meant nor did he want to know.

Jim wanted to jump from the bunk, but the only thing holding him back was an overwhelming feeling of doubt. He could hear Kirstie in the kitchen below, pacing up and down like a wounded elephant. She knew something was wrong because unlike every other day Jim hadn’t demanded a chocolate biscuit after walking through the front-door, and had stormed straight up to his bedroom without even asking if he could borrow any of her maths textbooks for research. What was even more telling was the fact that Sebastian wasn’t there either; usually when Jim came home alone it either meant that Sebastian was ill or the pair had fallen out with one another, and judging by the forceful slam of Jim’s bedroom door Kirstie could easily tell that it was the latter. She’d tried knocking on Jim’s door, but after receiving a mouthful of ‘ _fuck offs_ ’ she’d quickly decided to retreat to the kitchen instead where she was safe from the firing line.

To steady himself Jim’s fingers were curled around the railings of the bed, tight enough to stop him from falling as he precariously eased himself forward. The pressure of holding on was beginning to make his hands red and sore, meaning that if he was going to jump then he’d better do it soon before he lost control and fell anyway. Everything looked so much smaller from the top bunk, from the cluster of plastic toys spread out on the carpet to the stash of library books he’d forgotten to return a few weeks ago. After staring at the ground for so long his head was beginning to spin, mixed in with a sensation of dizziness that made him want to be sick. Now that the thundering footsteps had stopped Jim could hear Kirstie talking to somebody downstairs, despite the fact that there was nobody else in the house. As he teetered on the edge of the bed he tried his hardest to listen in on the one-sided conversation; judging by the sweetened tone she was using it must have been his doctor, the one who always asked him how he was feeling whenever he visited his monthly appointments. But he didn’t want to speak to a doctor, he wanted to make everybody pay attention, and right now the more he thought about it the more determined he was to succeed.

The feeling of fear was still there, but when Jim closed his eyes he found that it no longer bothered him as much. When he squeezed his eyes shut all he could see was a black abyss, making it much easier to try and picture Sebastian’s face if he could see him there. Stupid, ugly Sebastian, who didn’t care about anything else other than his brainless father and his boring old rugby. When he became king Jim decided that he was going to ban all rugby, even the very mention of it, and sentence Sebastian and his father to the gallows where they’d both shrivel and rot. It wasn’t fair. He missed the old gang, before everybody had become obsessed with girls and growing up, back when gang meetings hadn’t been interrupted by stupid rugby practice every other week. In a world where girls didn’t exist he wouldn’t have to worry about getting replaced; he could play cowboys and Indians every night and there’d be nobody to stop him, apart from maybe Kirstie, but he’d feel bad about getting rid of her so she was the only exception to his no-girls policy. But Sebastian was always too busy with his homework to play games anymore, either that or he claimed he wasn’t in the mood to spray graffiti or terrorise the neighbours like they used to. Being the gang leader just wasn’t as fun nowadays, and since he couldn’t get what he wanted then there was only one solution to his problems, the same thing he’d watched his old roommate, Malcolm, do when he’d tried to jump off the bridge in the middle of town after claiming he was hearing voices.

Jim took a deep breath, and in a fleeting motion he pushed himself from the top of the bunk, falling for only a split second before he collided with the floor below.

By the time Sebastian returned to Grosvenor Street the ambulance had already been and gone, leaving behind no trace of its visit aside from the fact that the front-gate was partially ajar. It was commonplace for Kirstie to close the gate whenever she left in the mornings or arrived home from work; she said it was to stop next-door’s dog from digging up her prized flowerbeds, after an unfortunate incident the previous year when she’d arrived home to find all of her beloved tulips dug up from the soil and chewed to pieces. Sebastian had never paid attention to the gate before, so as he hopped out of his father’s van and made his way up to the front of the house he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, only that when he knocked on the door he couldn’t hear the usual sound of chattering voices floating out of the kitchen. He waited, then waited some more, until just as he was beginning to grow worried he spotted a figure coming down the staircase. Only it wasn’t Jim, it was his foster father Brian.

Sebastian couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Brian, but he certainly didn’t remember him looking so tired. When the door opened the Englishman appeared to stop abruptly in his tracks, his hand quivering on the door handle as he looked Sebastian up and down, the recognition flashing immediately in his eyes. It was hard to tell whether Brian was happy or not to see him, all Sebastian could determine was that his visit was both unexpected and served no purpose. Jim wasn’t home, and judging by the empty quietness in the house neither was Kirstie. He watched as the man finally let go of the door handle and raised a hand to his face as he proceeded to adjust his glasses, before lowering it once more so that he could rest it on the buttons of his work suit. Brian’s movements were slow and shaky, mirroring the flustered expression on his face and the dark circles surrounding his eyes. For such a lively man, one who always prided himself on telling jokes around the dinner table, it was almost alarming to see the Englishman so unsettled, and prompted Sebastian to address the question he’d been meaning to ask, despite the fact that his heart was racing sickeningly in his chest.

“Is Jim home?”

As expected his question was met with an apologetic grimace from Brian, confirming Sebastian’s worst fear that something must have happened to Jim while he’d been gone, something bad enough that the older man was reluctant to answer straight away.

“Not yet, they’re keeping him there overnight,” he explained tentatively, the usual humorous tone completely absent from his voice. Sebastian could see the leather briefcase dumped clumsily on the floor behind him, meaning that whatever it was must have forced Brian to return home in a hurry. “The doctors have already given him stitches but they want to keep an eye on him, just to make sure that there’s no swelling. Head injuries are a little different to normal injuries.”

“Keeping him where? What’s wrong with his head?”

“The hospital,” continued the man. “In-fact I only just got the phone call at work, I was about to head there now. I thought you would have already known.”

The more Brain spoke the more Sebastian struggled to comprehend what the older man was talking about. He was numb with anger, not because of Brian, but because Jim was seemingly all by himself in hospital being poked and prodded at by different doctors and nurses. Jim didn’t like doctors, even an idiot would know that, and the very thought of the raven-haired boy sitting alone in a dark hospital room was enough to make Sebastian’s temper explode. Only for some reason he couldn’t find the words to shout, or even speak. Normally when he was this angry he would have lashed out at the nearest wall or person, however as he stood there on the doorstep it was like he was cemented to the spot, his fists glued into tight balls which prevented him from moving a muscle. As he remained rigid he could tell Brian was looking at him, waiting expectantly for a response, only he didn’t know where to begin in processing the flood of thoughts running through his head. A tiny part of his brain kept telling him that Jim was going to die, but he didn’t want to think about that possibility just yet. Realising this was the case Brian reached out a hand and placed it on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing it gently before offering him a sympathetic smile of reassurance, one that was riddled with guilt. Then he explained what had happened, and suddenly the guilty expression made sense.

Jim had fallen off of his bunk bed and cracked his head open.

When Sebastian visited the cafe with his father that evening he spent the whole time trembling in his seat, barely touching the measly portion of burger and chips he’d ordered. The atmosphere in the cafe was quiet; aside from themselves there were only two other motorcyclists waiting to be served, leant against the counter discussing their latest escapades while their food was being prepared in the kitchen. The absence of any other customers could be explained solely by the fact that it was almost closing time. It was only a small cafe, but the majority of other tables and chairs had already been packed away for the evening, and even after they received their food one of the waitresses, a young girl with a stained apron tied around her waist, was busy sweeping up the mess on the floor with a broom. The food itself was nothing exceptional, and was the same type of food Sebastian would have expected to be served by the dinner ladies at school. The burger on his plate looked sad and limp, as did the chips which were already stone-cold when Sebastian attempted to prod at them with his fingertip.

He hadn’t wanted to disappoint his father by refusing to come, only now that he was there he couldn’t stop thinking about Jim and the hospital. After explaining the situation Brian had generously offered to give him a lift, but since his father was still waiting Sebastian had declined with reluctance, watching instead as the Englishman drove off alone to the hospital where he presumed Jim was being kept. He’d barely spoken a word during the car ride into town, or in the cafe where his father was slowly beginning to grow suspicious of his strangely-subdued mood. While his father trailed off into some long-winded story about his own school days Sebastian had already stopped listening, and was far more focused on his own thoughts, where the same constant fears about Jim were revolving around in his mind like the cogs of an engine. Since arriving at the cafe his mind had become fixed on the possibility that Jim had hurt himself on purpose, like the times in the past where he’d listened to the raven-haired boy describe how the bad thoughts in his head made him do things that he didn’t like. If the bad thoughts were back then Sebastian needed to find Jim, protect him, but he couldn’t do that when Jim was a million miles away in hospital.

That evening Sebastian decided to solve the problem by writing a letter, one that was neatly addressed ’ _To Jim_ ’ at the very top. He wrote the whole thing on the page of one of his notepads, using a red felt-tip pen since he knew it was Jim’s favourite colour. Sebastian spent an excessively long time etching out each and every word, wanting to use his best hand-writing to make the letter extra special, where at the bottom he even included a drawing of Jim in a spacesuit stood on top of the moon in hopes that it might cheer up his counterpart.

’ _To Jim,_

_I’m very sorry for shouting at you and I hope you can forgive me, I was just cross and I didn’t mean to say the mean things that I said. I tried to find you to apologise in person but Brian told me you were at the hospital because you hurt your head. I hope you get well soon, I promise I’m going to visit tomorrow after school. I told my dad and he said the doctors are going to help you get better. He also said that when your head is better you can come round for tea, he wants to meet you. He took me to a cafe today after rugby, the food didn’t taste very good but he promised next time it’ll be nicer since he’s going to get another job and earn more money. Maybe he’ll let me invite you too. When they fix your head I hope you’ll be allowed to come home. I’m going to miss you at school, lunchtime won’t be any fun without you and I won’t have anybody to sit next to in assembly. I wish I could stay there with you tonight but dad reckons I won’t be allowed._

_Love from your best friend Sebastian_.’

After finishing the letter Sebastian pressed a small kiss to where he had written Jim’s name at the top, accidentally smudging the lettering in the process and creating a streak of red ink across the page. Since there were no envelopes he decided to fold the letter into four careful squares, making sure there were no creases before tucking it neatly into his schoolbag for the following day. So that he didn’t forget he’d even written a note to remind himself, sticking it inside of his sock drawer so that he’d spot it when he went to get dressed the next morning. His father came in an hour later to wish him goodnight, by which time Sebastian had already brushed his teeth and was perched on the edge of the bed in his pyjamas reading a book. He didn’t sleep very much that night. Whenever he closed his eyes he was greeted by the same, repeating nightmare; in it he could see Jim, only Jim was sprawled across the floor not moving. The closer he approached the more aware he was that something was wrong, until finally when he reached the raven-haired boy he was greeted by the reoccurring sight of his head, where Jim’s skull had cracked in two and parts of his brain were seeping out. Amidst the red and pink mess of flesh Sebastian could see Jim’s ebony eyes, glassy and lifeless, but whenever he tried to touch his friend he was interrupted by an ensemble of cloaked figures running towards them; they were doctors, all dressed in white overalls and masks and shouting words he couldn’t understand. They were coming to take Jim away. He tried his best to fight back but each time the doctors were too strong and quickly overpowered him, loading Jim onto a gurney and carting him away until Sebastian could no longer see him. However he never made it to the end of the nightmare without jolting awake from his bedcovers, panting for breath and quickly scrambling to turn on his bedside lamp.

The sudden illumination of warm light was soothing, but it wasn’t enough to rid Sebastian’s mind of the haunting image of Jim, deathly pale and lifeless, or of the mess of brains seeping out of Jim’s cracked skull. After his third attempt at sleep Sebastian decided to clamber out of bed, tugging on his dressing gown and traipsing over to the window so that he could peel back the curtains. Outside the street was still dark, lit only by the row of streetlights and the occasional flash of a car headlight whenever one travelled past. As he surveyed the road there was no sign of the familiar red car he knew Jim’s family drove, not even anything that remotely resembled it. Sebastian could hear sirens in the distance, breaking through the otherwise silent air, but each time they faded away and disappeared without a trace, and he allowed himself a sigh of relief at the realisation they were probably just nothing.

By morning the little red car had returned, which Sebastian noticed while he was halfway through eating his bowl of cereal. It was parked directly outside of Jim’s house, where through the kitchen window he could see Kirstie fussing around with a box of belongings as she packed them into the boot of the car, inside of which he could just about make out a bundle of clothes resembling pyjamas. She too looked like she hadn’t slept much; her greying hair was unkempt and tied back in a makeshift bun, while the clothes she was wearing looked creased as if she had worn them overnight. Sebastian attempted to wolf down the remainder of his breakfast as fast as he could, and after dumping his empty bowl into the sink he uttered a hurried goodbye to his father before quickly collecting his bike from the garden and venturing out onto the street to find her.

To his relief Kirstie was still there when he arrived, sat in the driver’s seat preparing to start the engine.

“Are you going back to the hospital?”

“Sebastian? Oh!”

The car engine abruptly stopped, and after winding down the window Sebastian was greeted by the older woman, who’d been caught completely off guard by his unexpected appearance. It didn’t take long for her expression to soften however, and upon registering his question she nodded her head.

“Yes, I am,” she agreed. “I just came to collect some clothes.”

“Will you give Jim this letter?”

He dove hastily into his backpack and retrieved the letter he’d written, handing it over to Kirstie who examined it with interest. Some of the red ink had seeped through the paper and stained it overnight, but aside from that his writing hadn’t been ruined, neither had the little drawing at the bottom of the page. Sebastian’s gaze followed her sharply as she proceeded to tuck the letter away into her coat pocket, waiting until he was certain that the letter was safe before daring to ask his next question.

“…How is he?”

“Better.” The relief in Kirstie’s voice was evident as she spoke. “He’s coming home tomorrow morning.”

She noticed the expression in Sebastian’s face, and after finishing her sentence her lips immediately wrapped into a warm smile.

“Would you like to come and visit him?”

Sebastian nodded eagerly, unable to disguise his excitement at the suggestion. Kirstie further explained that she would drive him to the hospital later that afternoon once he finished school, to where Jim was apparently being kept in his own room on the children’s ward. To add to his anticipation she also revealed that Jim, despite his injuries, had been talking about him non-stop, where the most frequent question he asked was when the blond was going to visit. The revelation that the raven-haired boy was talking about him surprised Sebastian, however his surprise was overshadowed by an even larger wave of relief, relief that Jim must not entirely hate him after all. He thanked Kirstie for promising to deliver the letter, waving feebly at her as he watched her pull away, before mounting his bike and finally pushing off from the kerb. Alone.

School passed in a rush that day. Sebastian spent the majority of it sat staring at the clock, waiting impatiently for the hours to pass so that he could visit Jim. He was a lot quieter than normal, choosing not to raise his hand in lessons, while at lunchtime he hid himself away behind the wall of the bike shed so that he could eat his sandwiches in peace. He wasn’t used to the solitude; usually at lunchtime he had Jim glued to his side rambling nonsensically about the latest episode of Top Of The Pops, whereas now all he had to keep him company were the distant shouts from the football game on the other side of the playground. The boys in his class always played football at lunchtime with the battered ball from the PE shed. Sebastian never joined in, but every now again the ball would come hurtling in his direction, or bang against the wall of the bike shed and cause him to jump. Miraculously that day no stray footballs came flying towards him, the only downside being that it made for a particularly boring lunchtime, leaving Sebastian with nothing to do apart from pick apart the contents of his food and listen to one of the teachers lecturing the boys in his class for smashing a hole in the library window, before subsequently confiscating the football they’d been playing with.

When the bell chimed for the end of the day Sebastian was the first one out of his seat and through the door. He needed to reach the gate as quickly as possible in-case Kirstie decided to leave without him, that way he’d end up breaking his promise and Jim would never forgive him or trust him again. Thankfully his worries quickly faded when he spotted the plump woman waiting for him outside, wearing a kind smile on her face meaning that she was equally just as pleased to see him as he was to see her. After weaving his way through a crowd of incessantly-annoying first years Sebastian finally reached her, and climbed shyly into the passenger seat of the car as soon as she assured him he was allowed to.

“Good day?”

“Dunno… it was alright I s’pose.”

Without the company of the smaller boy it felt strange sitting in the car by himself, staring out of the window at all of the passing buildings and road signs. He’d never realised how much of a presence Jim had until now, where the silence inside of the car was practically deafening. Sebastian was secretly grateful when Kirstie, who had also picked up on the eerie silence, turned on the radio, and felt himself relax a little more against his seat as the journey continued. He didn’t say much, despite the fact he could tell Kirstie was eager to start a conversation. Mostly it was because he still felt shy around the older woman; not only was she a part of Jim’s family but she was also extremely clever, which intimidated Sebastian more than he liked to admit. He knew all of the people in Jim’s house had some sort of understanding about maths and science, from how many elements there were in the periodic table to how much rocket fuel was needed to get man to the moon. He didn’t possess the same amount of knowledge as they did, nor would he likely ever, but somehow when Jim was around he never seemed to feel so out of place. Jim always involved him in the conversation, even if it was just to boast about how tall and strong he was. But Sebastian appreciated it nevertheless - it meant he could always rely on the raven-haired boy to take him under his wing.

When they approached the hospital Sebastian quickly became captivated by how many people there were flowing in and out, some of them dressed in gowns resembling patients, while others were stood by the entrance holding balloons and bouquets of flowers which meant they must have been visitors. The building was still large but significantly smaller than he remembered it to be, maybe because the last time he’d been there had been when he was only eight, back when every building had looked like a skyscraper. They parked the car in a small car-park on the left side of the hospital before stepping out, where Sebastian was preparing to leave until he was stopped by Kirstie placing her hand instinctively against his shoulder.

“Just before we head inside there’s something I think you should take,” she spoke tentatively.

Sebastian watched curiously as she delved a hand into her bag, retrieving what he soon realised was a crown, a paper one almost completely identical to the one Jim had been wearing when they’d first met. Unlike Jim’s previous crown however this one looked brand new; there were no strips of sellotape holding the sides together, or tiny rips where the crown had been manhandled.

“They wouldn’t let me bring in chocolate,” the woman continued to explain. “…This is the closest thing I could find to cheer him up. I found some leftover crackers from Christmas up in the attic, I was planning on keeping them for this year until I found the crown. It reminded me of when you were both smaller.”

Sebastian cautiously took the paper crown, admiring it in his hands as gently as possible so that he didn’t accidentally tear it.

“He’ll love it,” he mumbled gingerly, a small smile curling across his lips.

He tried handing it back to Kirstie, however the woman quickly dismissed it with a firm shake of her head.

“I think you should be the one to give it to him, love… He’ll like that.”

Following Kirstie’s suggestion Sebastian carefully slid the crown into his pocket, his smile widening a little as he tried to imagine Jim’s face when he saw it. He silently wondered whether or not the raven-haired boy had read his letter yet, though it wouldn’t be long until he soon found out. Kirstie had already locked the car door and started to walk off carrying the box of Jim’s belongings, leaving Sebastian to hurriedly bolt after her so that he didn’t become lost in the sea of visitors. The entrance consisted of two glass doors, which opened automatically as they approached. As soon as they stepped inside Sebastian expected to be greeted by a hectic rush of doctors and nurses scattered around like headless chickens, only to discover that in reality the hospital was unexpectedly calm. Amongst the abundance of white walls he could see a sign pointing them in the direction of the children’s ward, up the stairs towards the third floor.

Up until now he hadn’t felt nervous; as they navigated their way through the maze of stairwells and corridors he could feel his heart rate beginning to pick up, faster and faster until his heart was practically hammering in his chest. To distract himself from his worries he tried to focus on his surroundings, but each time he caught a glimpse of a patient being wheeled down the corridor his unease returned again, and in the end he decided to bow his head and keep his eyes trained on the floor so that he wouldn’t see anything he didn’t want to. He looked extremely out of place in his school uniform, and while they walked his stare remained fixed entirely upon his muddy trainers to prevent any unwanted eye contact. It was only when Kirstie spoke his name after five minutes of walking that he stopped abruptly in his tracks and looked up.

Sebastian recognised the children’s ward immediately by the coloured murals on the walls, which seemingly hadn’t changed at all since his last visit. Just like the previous time the walls were plastered with different sea creatures, from crabs to starfish, all brightly-coloured and decorated with various patterns. While Kirstie was busy talking to the receptionist Sebastian had time to examine them properly; though he knew the main purpose of the murals was to cheer up the younger, more anxious patients, just staring at them was only adding to his restlessness. He couldn’t understand why the paintwork was so cheerful in such an otherwise-gloomy place. This was supposed to be a place for sick people, and so far every patient he’d witnessed looked like they were on the brink of death. The brightly-decorated murals reflected none of that, in-fact if it wasn’t for the map of directions listing all of the different departments and facilities Sebastian wouldn’t even have been able to tell that they were inside was a hospital. 

They were instructed to wait by the receptionist Kirstie had spoken to, however Sebastian was in no mood to speak as they took a seat on the uncomfortable, plastic chairs lining the waiting room. The longer he was kept from visiting Jim the more impatient he was growing, to the point where he had even considered storming off and finding Jim’s room all by himself. He didn’t want to wait; he felt tense knowing that if he waited even a second too long then something catastrophic might happen to the smaller boy, something that could have been easily prevented if he’d been there to keep him company. Kirstie on the other hand didn’t seem to have the same concerns as him, and was busy fussing around with the boxes of clothes she’d brought along with her, whereas the rest of the room was made up of flustered-looking parents all waiting with their own small children and toddlers, many of whom were babbling away or sat playing with the colouring books compiled on the table. It took ten minutes for a nurse to re-emerge from the ward, wearing a sympathetic, overly-cheery smile on her face as she made her way over to them both.

“You must be James’ mother,” she addressed Kirstie first, before turning her attention to Sebastian who was glaring at her disapprovingly. “…And you, young man, must be his older brother.”

“I’m his best friend, we aren’t brothers,” Sebastian corrected her sternly, causing the nurse’s smile to momentarily dip as she processed the unexpected response.

“Can I see him now?”

“Yes, the doctor’s just finished up,” the nurse explained, this time in a somewhat less enthusiastic voice. “Visiting hours end at five, after that you’ll have to leave.”

Sebastian stood up obediently, but was instantly confused when he saw that Kirstie was still seated.

“You go first,” she encouraged calmly, ushering Sebastian along. “I’ll give you boys some space.”

The blond didn’t particularly want to go on his own, but in the midst of his excitement he didn’t think twice about Kirstie’s explanation, he was merely relieved that he finally was allowed to see Jim. Once it was decided the nurse led him out of the waiting room and through the corridor of rooms, each of which was labelled with the name of a sea creature matching the wall murals outside. When they reached the room creatively-titled ‘ _jellyfish_ ’ Sebastian noticed that the blind was raised, meaning that he could see whoever was inside by peering through the window. After pressing his face determinedly against the pane of glass he was greeted at once by a small room complete with a bed and visitor’s chair, and grinned immediately at the realisation that tucked up inside of the bed was indeed Jim, who wasn’t on the edge of death but was instead beaming madly back at him. After checking the nurse for approval he was finally given the go-ahead to open the door, and as soon as she walked away he wasted no time in pulling the metal handle and slipping inside.


	21. Hopsital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian visits Jim in the hospital, and is forced to come to terms with the truth of what happened.

Jim’s favourite part of riding in the back of an ambulance had been the blue lights, either that or the unmistakeable blare of sirens as they travelled across the busy city. Throughout the journey he’d lost count of how many red lights they’d cut through, or the amount of ordinary people who’d stopped and watched as the ambulance rattled its way past and brought Dublin’s traffic to a standstill. Apparently it wasn’t against the law to pass through a set of red lights, but only if it was some type of emergency. Jim decided that ambulances were his new favourite mode of transport, not like planes which were too noisy and turbulent, or normal cars which didn’t have the appeal of flashing lights or sirens. He was a little disappointed that he hadn’t been able to ask one of the paramedics to drive even faster, but the small dose of morphine he’d been administrated had made him woozy, and any attempt to talk subsequently led to him creating a pained whimpering sound with his mouth and nothing else.

His ride had been spent under the care of the second paramedic, a young, pale-skinned woman who’d spent the majority of the drive brushing through his dark hair and attempting to stop him from sitting up whenever he got restless and tried to fidget. Her accent was Slavic, maybe Polish or Czech. Jim only knew because she pronounced her words with a stress on the second to last syllable, and pronounced his name like ‘ _gems_ ’ instead of ‘ _James_ ’. He supposed she wasn’t all bad since she kept telling him what a ‘brave little boy’ he was, which even in her slightly incoherent accent had cheered him up significantly.

The evening passed slowly. The doctors came and went, as did Kirstie who made no attempt to hide how furious she was when she flew hurriedly into the room to see him. If it wasn’t for the patrolling doctors Jim had a feeling she would have gladly throttled him right there in his bed, but thankfully his dazed state must have prompted her to feel some-part guilty, as her anger was only short-lived before it soon evaporated and turned to sympathy. By the time the older woman arrived he’d already received stitches to his scalp and a full head of bandages, as well as been offered the treat of a cup of tea by one of the nurses in charge of the ward round that night. He’d wanted hot chocolate instead of tea, but after much conflict he’d finally settled on a mug of milky tea, only after the promise that in the morning he’d be allowed a small chocolate biscuit along with his breakfast.

The letter arrived the following day, after an uncomfortable night of virtually little to no sleep. He spotted it in Kirstie’s hand the very second she entered the room, only because for the first time ever it was a letter addressed directly to him instead of to one of his foster parents. When he asked what it was Kirstie pretended not to know, even though the handwriting instantly confirmed his suspicions that Sebastian likely had something to do with it. Unlike Jim, Sebastian hadn’t quite mastered the art of cursive writing yet; his handwriting was clearly distinguishable by the way he’d carefully tried to tie each of the letters together, where despite his determination the majority were still mismatched and wonky. Sebastian’s handwriting was a lot bigger than Jim’s, who in contrast enjoyed writing small and looping all of his ‘J’s and ‘G’s as methodically as if he was solving a maths problem. Jim found that by writing smaller he could subsequently fit more calculations onto a page whenever he was in a maths lesson. The same could be applied for English too, but English wasn’t as black and white as maths was which made it far more confusing.

By the end of the afternoon he’d already reread the letter at least a dozen times, and each separate time he felt a tiny smile curl at the corners of his lips at the final words ‘ _love from your best friend Sebastian_.’ Jim was equally just as thrilled that Sebastian had written the letter in his favourite colour, red, and that he’d even taken the time to draw a little picture at the bottom of the page. When his lunch was brought in by one of the doddery old nurses he was quick to hide the piece of paper under his pillow, waiting until she had moved on to the next room before retrieving it and opening it up so that he could read it all over again. The only times he took a break were when he was interrupted by the steady stream of doctors flowing in and out to check on him or to adjust his bandages, and when a gentle knock on the door revealed one of the nurses stood with a smile in the threshold.

“James, there’s a visitor here to see you.”

The news of a visitor came only a few hours after the appearance of the letter, when Jim’s final assessment of the day had finished. The assessment in question had been done by a psychiatrist, not like one of the normal doctors he was used to seeing. The psychiatrist introduced himself as Doctor Rutter, but after assuring Jim that he could call him just ‘ _Charlie_ ’ Jim quickly realised that he wasn’t a proper doctor at all. He’d been asked a long list of questions, all of which involved how exactly he’d fallen onto the floor from his bunk, and whether or not his emotions had anything to do with the accident. Doctor Rutter’s questions didn’t make sense until Jim noticed the lanyard he was wearing around his neck, where underneath his name the title ‘Paediatric Psychiatrist’ was typewritten in blue. The assessment ended after Jim stubbornly refused to answer anymore of his questions, and on his way out the psychiatrist deposited two small pills on the bedside table, right next to the glass of water that had been left behind from lunch. Jim didn’t bother to look at the pills initially; his foul mood lasted only a few seconds as he watched the psychiatrist leave, before it quickly dissipated when he spotted who else was waiting for him outside, somebody far better than any doctor or a nurse.

Over the course of the last two days the only visitors he’d received had been his foster parents, so the sight of Sebastian stood gingerly in the doorway was immediately enough to spread a broad smile across his lips. Sebastian was still wearing his school uniform, unlike Jim who was in a cheap gown provided by the hospital, wearing a look of undeniable shock on his face as he saw the bandage wrapped around the raven-haired boy’s head. Before Jim could say anything however Sebastian had hurried over to him, crawling onto the bed and wrapping his arms around him in a tight, protective hug. When he pulled away Jim noticed something red clasped in his hand, which the blond hastily tried to hide in his pocket when he realised that Jim had seen it.

“Did you get my letter?”

The breathlessness in Sebastian’s voice made Jim smile, and slowly he shuffled across the bed so that Sebastian could join him, eagerly patting the empty space beside him. The blond sat down without missing a beat however the distance between them remained the same, almost as if he was scared to move away in-case something else bad was to happen. Naturally Jim noticed his tenseness straight away, and before even responding to Sebastian’s question he curled up into the taller boy’s lap, resting his head against Sebastian’s chest to reassure him that he wasn’t going to go anywhere. As the bandages around his head brushed against Sebastian’s school-shirt he could feel the blond’s heart thumping madly in his chest, growing faster and faster until finally it began to slow to a much calmer, more reasonable pace.

“Of course I did,” Jim promised, digging around underneath his pillow and retrieving the letter. “I read every single word, I liked the drawing you did at the end.”

Sebastian smiled feebly, but it was soon became obvious that he was far more interested in what was currently wrapped around Jim’s head than what Jim thought of his letter.  
  
“Was it really bad?” He asked apprehensively, pointing a finger to the bandages.

“It hurt a little,” Jim mumbled, allowing Sebastian to run his fingers along the bandages, watching as he tried his best to be as careful as possible so that he didn’t accidentally hurt him. “The bandages are only to protect the stitches… but I got to ride in a real ambulance, sirens and everything.”

Sebastian eventually retracted his hand from the bandages, shivering a little when Jim described the ambulance and its sirens.

“I thought you were going to die.”

His voice was only small, but it didn’t stop Jim from immediately scrunching up his face.

“Don’t be stupid,” he scolded disapprovingly, although at the topic of dying his head suddenly began to reel with a different type of thought, one that he’d never asked aloud before.

“…What would you do if I died?”

The suddenness of the question startled Sebastian, whose eyes widened in horror at the very mention of the word. It took a moment for him to think of an answer, by which time Jim was consciously aware that Kirstie was lingering not-so-secretively outside of the room, attempting to check to see if they were both alright. But she could wait, Jim didn’t need her right now.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because I’m curious.”

“I dunno…” Sebastian bit down on his tongue, pulling a face of concentration. “Cry, I suppose.”

“But boys aren’t supposed to cry,” Jim pointed out adamantly.

“Then I’d find whoever did it to you and kill them too.”

“What if I did it myself?”

“Then…” Sebastian began with a focused frown. “I’d follow you, wherever you go.”

An audible rustling noise filled the room when Sebastian dug into his pocket, and retrieved what looked to be the same red object from earlier. It was only after closer inspection that Jim saw what it was for the first time: a paper crown, almost identical to the one he had been wearing on the day of Sebastian’s eighth birthday. As Sebastian outstretched the crown in his palm Jim couldn’t help but raise his brow suspiciously, until his expression prompted the blond to explain what exactly it was for.

“It’s a present."

“For me?”

“Kirstie found it in the attic,” Sebastian continued, handing it carefully over to Jim. “She wanted you to have it, to cheer you up.”

“Is that why she’s standing outside?”

When Sebastian looked up he noticed a sudden flash of grey hair darting behind the window, clearly belonging to Kirstie who hadn’t managed to hide in time without being caught. He turned back to Jim, smiling instantly when he saw that the younger boy had already draped the paper crown over his head.

“It’s to make you feel better,” Sebastian added feebly, watching as Jim attempted to squeeze the crown over his bandages. “How d’you feel now?”

“Like I’m the king.”

“Then it must be working.”

Knowing Jim it was no surprise when the raven-haired boy clambered up from his perch and placed a delicate kiss to Sebastian’s cheek, long enough that when he pulled away there was a slight hint of wet residue staining the blond’s skin. Jim didn’t want to stay in bed after that, so when Kirstie eventually entered the room she was met with an onslaught of boisterous demands from the ten-year-old, who was desperate to venture outside the constraints of his room and explore the rest of the hospital. Naturally he didn’t get very far in his attempts; no matter how much he threatened to make himself vomit or came close to crying the answer was still no, not until his head had fully healed and he was discharged. Kirstie, soon realising the disappointment on both boys’ faces, eventually emitted a troubled sigh and folded her arms, looking up to where the clock on the wall had just struck four.

“Alright, just as long as you stay on this floor. When it gets to five o’clock then I’m taking Sebastian home.”

When the older woman disappeared off to the floor below to buy herself a coffee from the machine she left behind the box of Jim’s belongings, consisting of pyjamas, a book of Grimm’s Fairy Tales so that he wouldn’t get bored, and a long, woollen dressing gown. Before leaving Jim was keen to change into his pyjamas, and ordered Sebastian to turn and face the wall while he stripped down into his underwear. Sebastian, who couldn’t help himself, snuck in a few quick glimpses of Jim while he dressed, only when the raven-haired boy had his head bowed and couldn’t see him. He felt bad for Jim; while the rest of his scrawny frame had only suffered a small amount of bruising, it was obvious that his head had taken the brunt of the fall. The bandages themselves were wrapped tightly around the circumference of his head, leaving only a tiny tuft of dark hair exposed which poked out just above his forehead. It it wasn’t for the paper crown it would have been impossible to tell that it was Jim at all, especially with the horrible hospital gown which Jim had replaced with a pair of far more comfortable cotton pyjamas.

They found themselves wandering through the east wing of the children’s ward, past the array of multicolour rooms towards a small bench opposite from the lift. The lift cycle was very much the same; every so often the metal doors would open and produce a wave of new faces, all of whom rushed off without a single word to one another to fulfil their different needs. Sometimes there were doctors, visitors, or on rare occasions there would be the patients themselves relying on a pair of crutches to move themselves around. Whenever the doors closed the corridor would fill with an ominous rumbling noise as the lift continued its journey up to the top floor, until once more the sound subdued and all that was left was the steady click of Jim’s shoes tapping against the tiled floor. Jim’s crown received a few funny looks from the passing doctors, however each time he dismissed them by extending his tongue and blowing a loud, offensive-sounding raspberry.

“We could ask one of the nurses for a board game. They have chess in the waiting room.”

Sebastian had taken the spot beside Jim, and was sat with his chin rested upon the palms of his hands. Unlike Jim he was growing bored of staring at the metal encasing of the lift, where the most exciting sight had been of an old lady whose face had been significantly bloodied. Aside from that the people entering and departing the lift were all just ordinary adults, but Sebastian’s hopes of playing a simple game of snakes and ladders were soon gone when Jim abruptly elbowed him in the ribs and pointed towards the stairwell.

“Look.”

When Sebastian turned to follow Jim’s finger he immediately spotted two women stood on the stairwell; the first had her back pressed against the wall whispering and giggling, whilst the second was trying to quieten her with hardly any effort, aside from a few feeble hisses, which were met with just as much shrieking and laughing. At first he didn’t register that they were kissing, nor did he realise who the two women were until the first pulled away to reveal Miss Trevors, her blonde hair tucked behind her ears and her rosy lipstick matching the colour of the skirt she was wearing. The redness of her lipstick had worn off on the other woman, who Sebastian soon recognised to be the school librarian, Miss Davidson, who’d once been the forefront of a series of rumours speculating that she was a lesbian.

His school uniform must have caught the attention of Miss Trevors, whose expression resembled somebody who’d just witnessed her own death flash before her eyes the moment she saw him. She didn’t approach them initially; it was only when her shock subsided that she dared to take a few steps forward, a small, frankly startled, smile wavering on her crimson lips as she quickly wiped her mouth. The librarian stood and watched, however she made no attempt to follow behind.

“Sebastian… Jim… I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Miss Trevors attempted a smile, but the smile on her lips didn’t take away from the panicked expression in her eyes.

“Jim hurt his head,” Sebastian mumbled bluntly, trying to find the words to reply however it felt as though they were stuck in his throat.

The teacher nodded. She looked between Jim and Sebastian, not even attempting to keep up the pretence of a smile when she noticed the bandage wrapped around Jim’s head, accompanied by the wonky paper crown.

“He’s fine,” the older of the two hastily added when he saw her smile drop. “He gets to go home tomorrow morning.”

“I tried to kill myself,” Jim interjected to the crowd of horrified onlookers, including Sebastian whose mouth was still partially ajar from where he’d been about to continue his sentence.

He quickly closed it, now feeling significantly sick as well as the confusion he felt regarding Miss Trevors and her lady friend. The two pills on Jim’s bedside had pretty much confirmed that Jim’s fall from the bunk bed wasn’t an accident, but hearing the words said aloud by the raven-haired boy left him feeling as though his heart had plummeted straight from his chest. The rumble of the lift sounded somewhere far away in the distance but Sebastian couldn’t hear it; inside his ears there was a painful ringing, completely muffling the commotion of the doctors as well as Miss Trevors’ nervous laughter as she tried to decipher whether it was a joke or not. But she must have quickly figured it out because after a few seconds the laughter vanished.

“Well boys we ought to get going. I hope you feel better soon, Jim.”

She turned to face the librarian, prompting Jim to suddenly ask a question.

“Are you two married?”

The librarian, who still hadn’t spoken a word since their introduction, immediately made up some excuse to leave and quickly hurried past them, leaving a flustered Miss Trevors to attempt to come up with an answer on her own.

“We aren’t allowed to marry, Jim,” she eventually explained, a saddened smile playing on her lips.

“So does that mean you love each other?”

  
“Yes,” she agreed. “We love each other very much. We want to get married one day, but for now we have to keep this our little secret.”

Miss Trevors then sighed shamefully, her attention shifting to Sebastian instead when she spotted his bemusement.

“…I’m going to have to leave school for a while, Sebastian, I’m sorry. If I stay then I’ll get into trouble, we both will. There are some people in the world who don’t like people like us.”

The apology confused Sebastian more than the admittance that Miss Trevors was in love with another woman, and as soon as she finished speaking his brow creased into an adamant frown.

“But where will you go?”  
  
“I’ve taken on a position at another school,” she tentatively explained. “With other boys and girls just like you. Corpus Christi... it's a nice school, nobody else knows about me there."

Sebastian’s face sunk in dismay at the revelation that Miss Trevors was leaving. It took him a few seconds to actually comprehend the fact, by which time the woman had already offered her final smile and used the opportunity as an attempt to depart down the corridor. Only she was stopped by an abrupt, indignant shout before she could reach the end.

“Will you come back?”

He never did get an answer, only a vague wave which he concluded must have been a more polite way of saying no. As soon as she turned the corner the click of her high heels soon faded into non-existence, in what would perhaps be the final time that Sebastian would hear them. The atmosphere in the aftermath of their encounter was strange; Sebastian’s mind was split between worrying about Jim as well as the fact that he wasn’t going to see Miss Trevors anymore. Naturally Jim’s confession that he’d hurt himself on purpose was far more important than the latter, but still a small part of the blond couldn’t help but feel disappointed that during his last conversation with the teacher he hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye. He was disrupted from his thoughts when he felt movement from beside him, and turned to see Jim with his hands pressed together in a prayer-like position. Sebastian thought it was odd that Jim, somebody who regularly liked to dismiss the idea of God with science, would be praying, until he saw the triumphant grin on the raven-haired boy’s face and realised that his hands were clapped together not because he was praying, but because he was having an ‘ _I told you so_ ’ moment.

And whatever it was, Jim was practically radiating with smugness.

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“That they love each other, that they’re going to get married.”

“You heard what she said, they _can’t_ get married,” Sebastian pointed out sternly.

He spotted the time on the clock on the wall. It was half-past four.

“Why does she have to move schools? I would’ve promised not to tell anybody her secret. I’m not a snitch.”

Jim shrugged, having already lost interest in the scandalous affair between Sebastian’s teacher and the librarian. The news of Miss Trevors’ love life wasn’t surprising to him; he’d already caught a glimpse of her the previous night while he’d been in bed, through the window on the other side of the room. The biggest window in his room overlooked the west wing of the hospital, the place where those with much more severe illnesses were often brought in by ambulance during the dead of night. Though he’d been topped up on morphine he was adamant that it had been her; he could tell by the pace at which she was walking at, as well as the fact that she was wearing the same red skirt she’d had on that day. Judging by the flowers in her hand she’d been visiting somebody, a relative maybe. Whatever it was she must have been about to leave when she’d stumbled across Sebastian and accidentally revealed her secrets.

“You only have a few months left anyway before you move to secondary school,” Jim chided Sebastian, growing irritated when he realised that the blond didn’t share his same enthusiasm.

“Were you telling the truth?” Sebastian in-turn asked, looking up worriedly at his younger counterpart. “About falling on purpose?”

Jim contemplated the question momentarily before eventually shrugging his shoulders.

“Just as long as you promise you won’t tell anybody.”

Sebastian, despite his inner conflict, shyly nodded his head in agreement. He knew he couldn’t do much to stop Jim whenever his unpredictability got the better of him, but he wasn’t going to admit to Jim that he was scared. He was bigger than the raven-haired boy and that meant he had to be brave, no matter how much he was secretly frightened that Jim might try and do it again. Before he could help himself he’d shuffled across the bench and wrapped his arms around him, just not too tightly in-case he accidentally hurt the smaller boy. Alike earlier he was met with an instant wave of relief when Jim was crawled into his arms, especially when he could feel the smaller boy’s head rested against his chest. Sebastian could feel the pointed tips of Jim’s crown poking uncomfortably at his chin, but he didn’t mind knowing that for now he had the ability to keep him safe in his arms.

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” he mumbled into Jim’s ear, threading his fingers through the only strands of his ebony hair that weren’t covered by the bandages.

The paper crown rustled, but only when he got too close.

“I promise.”

“Good boy.”

Jim patted him affirmingly on the head, which was when the image of the two pills on Jim’s beside suddenly sprung to mind.

“What were those tablets?” Sebastian asked, despite already knowing the answer.  
  
“Hm?”

“The ones on your bedside table.”

Jim casted his mind back to Doctor Rutter, remembering one of the sentences he’d used during their brief conservation.

‘ _These are anti-depressants, James. They’ll make you feel better. They’re a little stronger than your usual dosage but you’ll soon get used to them._ ’

“And do they help?” Sebastian questioned.

But Jim didn’t know.

“I don’t know yet, I haven’t taken them.”

Kirstie returned from the cafe after finishing her second cup of coffee, five minutes earlier than she’d initially promised. She knew she was early, but after having spent the past hour sitting anxiously in the cafe by herself she couldn’t help herself any longer, and as the minutes ticked by she was eager to check up on the two boys she’d left behind. When she returned to the roomher hand was still clasped around the remains of her paper cup, where a few stray dribbles of coffee were still splashing around the interior. Usually she wasn’t a coffee drinker, but after a night of uncomfortable sleep in one of the hospital chairs the caffeine kick had certainly helped to fix her sluggish state, as well as helped to calm her incessant nerves. Kirstie was a natural worrier; she had been since childhood, so it was no surprise when her anxiety levels practically doubled after becoming a foster parent. Sometimes on nights where she was alone she wondered what life would have been like if she’d had her own children. At the start of their relationship both she and Brian had made the decision that they weren’t going to have children of their own, which had later worked in their favour after a routinely doctor’s appointment showed that Kirstie was in-fact infertile, meaning that even if she wanted to she’d never have a child of her own. Sometimes she had to pinch herself to remind her that Jim wasn’t actually her biological child; they’d cared for him the longest out of any of the other children they’d fostered, and with his adoration for maths and fluffy black hair the resemblance was certainly there. Though she wouldn’t admit it aloud Kirstie loved him as much as any normal mother loved her child, which made deciding Jim’s future a whole lot more difficult than she’d first anticipated.

As she opened the door she initially assumed both boys were still out exploring the east wing, until suddenly she caught sight of them fast asleep on the bedin one another’s arms. Upon first glance she could easily tell it was Jim from the paper crown poised on top of his head. He was curled up in the tightest ball she’d ever seen, so much so that he was practically hidden away in the comfort of Sebastian’s arms. With his eyes closed Jim resembled a small child; it was the most peaceful she’d seen him in a long time, with rosy cheeks contrasted against his porcelain skin and his lips partially parted as he breathed steadily in and out. The pyjamas he was wearing looked far more comfortable than the scratchy gown from earlier, although the same couldn’t be said for Sebastian’s school uniform where the buttons of his shirt were constricting his chest and his green striped tie was askew. By the looks of it Sebastian had attempted to stay awake to guard the room, but had fallen asleep not long after Jim. He too was clumsily curled up on the bed, his legs sprawled out at all angles while his arms were firmly cemented around Jim’s waist. Kirstie smiled as she watched the two sleeping peacefully, standing in the threshold of the door so that she didn’t accidentally make a noise and wake them up. The nurse would be back soon to tell her and Sebastian that visiting hours were over, but for now she wasn’t willing to disturb their rest, not when they both desperately needed it. The last two days had been long enough already.

And then she noticed the bedside table, where the two antidepressant pills were gone.


	22. Sinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is back from hospital. A new dosage of medication leads to problems, Jim decides to take matters into his own hands.

For the first week it was good; Sebastian got to attend rugby practice like normal while Jim recovered at home.

He was discharged from hospital the following morning after Sebastian’s visit, and allowed one week off of school until his head was fully healed from his accident. During the week Kirstie had also taken time away from work to care for him; she acted like his maid, bringing him all of his meals in bed and pandering to his every need, even if that meant helping to cut up his food or tie up his shoelaces whenever he used the excuse that his head hurt too much to do it himself. One of the unexpected upsides of being at home was that Jim’s bedtime had been extended by an extra fifteen minutes, so he could stay up until nine o’clock each night without the risk of being lectured. His new bedtime meant that he was allowed to sit in the living room with both of his foster parents watching documentaries about moon landings and black holes, all types of grown-up programmes that were only shown at night, until either one of them became tired and decided to turn off the television. Sometimes if he protested enough then he’d be allowed to watch five more minutes, but after that it was straight up to bed where he was instructed to take his pills before brushing his teeth and waiting for Kirstie to turn off his light.

The pills Jim had been prescribed were kept in a distinct blue bottle, one which hadn’t left its spot on the kitchen counter since his return from hospital. The familiar rattle of the pill jar was a noise Jim had become greatly accustomed to; it was usually the first sound he heard each morning waking up, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes to the sight of two, identical tablets already waiting for him on his bedside table. Although he didn’t know the specific name of the pills Jim wasn’t stupid, he knew what they were. Antidepressants. Kirstie tended to refer to them instead as his ‘happy medicine’, a term she’d used ever since he was seven that now filled the raven-haired boy with nothing but an increasing feeling of resentment. It was a sugar-coated version of what they actually were - foul-tasting, horrid tablets which doctors only ever prescribed to make themselves look clever. They hardly ever worked, and when they did the side effects were just as bad if not worse than the actual illness itself.

Since his admission to hospital Jim’s dosage of the blue pills had increased from 50 grams to 75 grams. Despite the fact that they were supposed to make him feel better, taking the new dosage had left him stuck feeling like a zombie, unable to move a single muscle or even lift himself up from the carpeted floor of his bedroom for hours at a time. On a particularly bad day it was rare for Jim to even step foot outside of his bedroom, and he could easily spend the morning curled up underneath the safety of his duvet covers listening to next-door’s Rottweiler barking at the constant stream of passing cars. It was the same as somebody placing invisible anchors on his chest and legs to weigh him down, or a cloud of thick fog that had settled in his brain and wouldn’t go away. The only time his mood ever seemed to improve was when Sebastian came to visit him after school. Because of what had happened Sebastian had made it his mission to stop by the house every single night, even if it was only for a few minutes because he needed to get home for his tea. Even if Jim wasn’t in a talkative mood the blond would still tell him all about his day, what fights had occurred at school and the new, elderly substitute teacher who had replaced Miss Trevors. If Jim was in an especially bad mood then Sebastian would sit quietly and complete his homework, often while on top of Jim’s mattress so that he could simultaneously guard the ladder and keep him safe. There were talks of getting rid of the bunk bed and replacing it with one closer to the ground, but since money was tight and Jim was hostile to the idea nothing of the sort had happened yet.

On Thursday night however, Sebastian was late.

Jim knew it wasn’t because of rugby practice because practice only took place on Fridays, and Sebastian always told him in advance if he was going out with his father after school. When three o’clock came he was disappointed by the absence of the blond’s red bike, which he usually left lying in the middle of the street when he returned home from school each day. Sebastian wasn’t the type of person to be disloyal, so Jim decided to sit by his bedroom window and wait for him to turn up, knowing that it was only a matter of time until he was bound to come racing down the road. But even by the time Kirstie called him downstairs for tea later that evening there was still no sign of Sebastian, leaving Jim to consider the possibility that maybe he had just forgotten.

Jim’s day had been relatively ordinary. For the first time all week he’d gotten dressed into something other than his pyjamas, and accompanied Kirstie to the record shop in town where he’d used the last of his pocket money to buy a new tape for his Walkman. It had been a toss up between either Freddie Mercury or The Smiths’ latest music, both of which had been advertised on the window at the front of the shop when he entered, but since The Smiths were too depressing he’d easily settled for the former. They’d visited a little cafe briefly for lunch where he’d picked apart the contents of a cucumber sandwich; Kirstie had ordered a large tuna baguette for herself, but when a group of teenagers entered and began to whisper and point in their direction Jim noticed how she’d instantly turned red with embarrassment and proceeded to hide the remainder of her leftover lunch inside her handbag. Once their shopping trip was over they took the bus home to Grosvenor Street. While Kirstie was busy paying for their tickets she’d instructed Jim to go and find a seat; usually he objected to taking the bus because it was too smelly and crowded, but since the only other passenger was a frail old man engrossed in a newspaper he’d eventually complied with her request and found a seat right at the very back, next to the window where he could study all of the traffic as they drove past. The bus stopped occasionally to let people on and off, including a middle-aged woman and her young child who’d taken an interest in the paper crown Jim was wearing on top of his head. Everybody else appeared to mind their own business, aside from the child who wouldn’t stop tugging on her mother’s skirt and pointing ecstatically towards him right up until it was time for their stop and she was unwillingly pulled away.

To anybody else there was nothing unusual about Jim. His bandages had long since been removed, and the scar he had gained across his scalp was now covered by his thick wave of black hair, leaving him with the appearance of a perfectly ordinary ten year old boy. Jim enjoyed the fuss and the attention that the bandages had brought, so now that they were gone he secretly missed them, but thankfully the paper crown seemed to do just as good of a job of garnering attention. Before leaving the house Kirstie had tried persuading him to take it off; she hadn’t realised how attached Jim was to the flimsy piece of paper until he had marched triumphantly down the staircase wearing it, much to her apparent dismay. Kirstie’s main concern was that now he was almost eleven he needed to learn how to act more mature for when he started secondary school, which in this case meant leaving behind his prized crown while they went shopping. An inevitable argument had ensued, and it was only when Jim threatened to burst into tears that Kirstie reluctantly gave in and apologised.

His unpredictable mood came from the fact that he hadn’t taken his pills that morning, not that he wanted Kirstie to know. He could tell that the sight of the half-empty jar of pills pleased her, and that as the amount of pills in the bottle slowly began to decrease she was hopeful that it wouldn’t be long until Jim was back to his old self again. Jim didn’t know whether he agreed with her hopeful mentality or not, and when he awoke that day he’d made the firm decision that he wasn’t going to take the pills waiting for him on his bedside table anymore. Instead while he was pretending to brush his teeth he’d flushed them down the sink plughole, and watched with anticipation as they swirled and gurgled around the basin before being swallowed up whole by the force of the water. When he returned from the bathroom it was easy to pretend that nothing had happened; neither Kirstie or Brian questioned him when he passed them in the hallway, they were simply glad that for the first time since his trip to hospital he finally appeared to be getting better.

As a way of celebrating Jim’s seemingly new and improved mood it was Brian’s idea to order a takeaway for dinner that evening. Takeaways were a rarity inside of number thirty six, and made a stark contrast against the home cooked meals Kirstie usually served up on a weeknight, which explained Jim’s surprise when he entered the kitchen to find the pizza box sitting in all its glory on top of the kitchen table. At first glance it was completely plain, with no extra toppings that would send Jim into a tailspin, only a layer of cheese which appeared partially glued to the lid of the cardboard box like melted plastic. As he sat down Jim could already feel his stomach beginning to growl underneath his hoodie; he eagerly reached his hand out, but as he was preparing to take a slice there came an abrupt knock on the front-door, four to be precise, followed by a series of incoherent noises from the outside letterbox.

Brian, who was closest to the door, decided to answer it, allowing Jim the opportunity to take a slice of pizza and inspect it for himself. As soon as he took a bite he regretted it immediately; the entire roof of his mouth erupted as though it was on fire, causing Jim to spit out whatever excess of food was left in his mouth back into his napkin. From then on he decided to nibble cautiously at the edge, ignoring Kirstie’s insufferable chides as she lectured him about eating his food too quickly. She herself hadn’t touched a single slice, which he assumed came as a result of her embarrassment over what had happened at lunch. While he carefully picked apart the remainder of his first slice the front-door opened and conversation sounded from the hallway. Jim’s ears pricked instantly when he recognised the familiar voice, and upon shifting his gaze to the door he was greeted with the sight of Sebastian Moran.

Jim grinned and Sebastian grinned back, long enough for Jim to notice that he was out of breath and his hair was drenched in a thick layer of sweat.

“Are you staying for dinner, love?” Asked Kirstie, whose first instinct was to stand up and open the cupboard to retrieve a spare plate, but the blond quickly shook his head and so she stopped.

“I’m fine, thank you, I jus’ wanted to see Jim.”

Sebastian was panting, which still didn’t explain why he was so much later than he usually was. Jim was excused from the table so that he and Sebastian could go upstairs together, leaving behind the two adults whose conversation had already turned to the blissful topic of retirement. It was only after closing the bedroom door behind them both that Jim rounded on the older boy, but before he even had the chance to say anything Sebastian had hunched over against the wall and begun to clutch breathlessly to his ribs. It was almost five pm which meant school had finished long over an hour ago, so it didn’t make sense as to why Sebastian was sill wearing his uniform, as dishevelled as it was. Still suspicious, Jim took a seat on top of his windowsill and watched from the other side of the room, waiting until Sebastian had finished panting before deciding to interrogate him.

“You’re late.”

“I came as fast as I could. The chain on my bike broke, I had to stop an’ fix it.”

The taller of the two slowly stood back up, wiping the sweat from his brow before pulling an apologetic grimace. Now that they were in close proximity Jim could see a tiny smudge of oil staining his fingertips, supporting his excuse, however he still couldn’t help but feel that there was something missing. As Sebastian fumbled clumsily with his school bag Jim continued to watch him like a hawk, until all of a sudden something red fell from the boy’s blazer pocket.

It was a report card, and since it was red it could only mean one thing.

“You had a detention?”

Sebastian attempted to hide the card, but it was already too late.

“Mister Blake gave it to me,” he grunted scornfully, scrunching up the piece of card and stuffing it forcefully back into his pocket.

“What for?” The raven-haired boy demanded.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Answer my question.”

“Jim! Get off!”

There was a small altercation, in which Sebastian was forced to grapple Jim away as he attempted to suddenly grab for his blazer. He tried pushing the smaller boy back, but not before Jim had snatched the report card straight from his pocket and had it clasped tightly in his left fist. All while he was trying to evade capture Jim was laughing; it was a cruel, shrieking laugh, and accompanied the smaller boy as he raced around the room, jumping and ducking in a bid to avoid Sebastian’s reach. He was running dangerously close to the edge of the bed where the ladder stood, making Sebastian worried that with any wrong move he risked colliding straight with the wooden bed frame.  
  
“Jim stop it, you’re going to hurt yourself again.”

Jim only stopped when he finally ran out of breath, which in hindsight didn’t take that long at all. His scrawny frame slumped down against the carpet where the laughter proceeded to fade away, and after unclenching his fist he produced the crumpled report card hidden inside. Sebastian immediately snatched it back and shoved the card away into his own pocket, grunting unhappily as he did so. As soon as the taller boy pulled away Jim sat up a little straighter, observing him with a thoughtful frown. But he still wasn’t finished yet.

“Well, answer my question.”

“I got into a fight in the corridor on my way to lunch.” Sebastian was reluctant to answer, but he knew Jim well enough to know that he wouldn’t stop until he gave him an answer. The last thing he wanted was for Jim to run around like a maniac again. “I overheard one of the younger boys calling you crazy, I told him I’d kill him if he said it again.”

Jim beckoned him forward and Sebastian obediently took a seat in-front of him, watching the raven-haired boy as he checked for any obvious injuries. Despite Sebastian’s protests that he was fine Jim ignored him, and continued searching up and down until he was satisfied that the only injury Sebastian had acquired was a small graze on the back of his hand, one which he ultimately decided to kiss better.

“Who was it?” He asked, pulling away from the kiss once he had finished.

“Dunno,” Sebastian admitted, truthfully this time. “I think his brother’s a prefect in the year above.

“Did you hurt him?”

“I only pushed him against the wall and hit him a bit. Mr Blake says I should be expelled and sent away, I don’t give a fuck what he says.”

Jim smiled and nodded, pleased with the outcome of the report. He liked hearing about Sebastian’s fights, especially the ones that involved him in any form. Sebastian always stuck up for him, whether it was an argument over who was the smartest or if somebody else had decided to pick on him. It was like having his own guard dog, and in return Jim treated him like one too; Sebastian obeyed every one of Jim’s commands, where in return he was rewarded with an influx of head pats and kisses and an endless amount of praise. And it worked. Jim loved it, the excitement of having a best friend who also doubled as his protector, and he could tell Sebastian practically lapped up the praise each time he was given it too, just as long as nobody else was watching. Then he tended to get embarrassed; Jim couldn’t understand why.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Now that Sebastian had explained himself the conversation subject shifted, and suddenly Jim found himself unwillingly pushed into the spotlight.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked defensively.

The blond shrugged, watching Jim closely as he began to pick apart a threadbare strand of carpet on the floor beside him, twisting and pulling it with the tips of his bony fingers until the threads began to peel away. It was hard to phrase what he wanted to ask without coming off as rude, as well as making the raven-haired boy even more twitchy than he already was. But as Jim’s finger movements grew more violent he could sense something was the matter, and decided to disrupt the smaller boy’s dazed state by asking him a question.

“Are your pills working properly?”

“They aren’t _my_ pills,” Jim emphasised irritably, his head snapping up from what he was doing. “Don’t call them that. They’re the doctor’s pills, they’re the ones who gave them to me.”

“But you’re the one who has to take them.” Sebastian swallowed uncomfortably.

“Not if I don’t want to, nobody can make me do anything.”

There was a newfound confidence in Jim’s voice now, one which made him sound determined.

“I’m going to tell you a secret,” he continued lowly, glancing briefly to the door to make sure they weren’t being listened to. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?”

“I promise.”

“Swear on my life.”

“I swear.”

“Good.”

Once he was certain that they were alone and there was no risk of them being overheard, Jim beckoned Sebastian to come closer. The blond carefully shuffled himself forward until he couldn’t move his legs any further, and was taken aback when Jim decided to crawl into his lap and cup his hand firmly against his ear.

_“I flushed them down the sink.”_

The confidence in Jim’s voice was strange. It was as if he was proud of what he had done, despite it only being a seemingly small, unimportant achievement. Sebastian’s eyes widened in curiosity, and he found himself leaning in even closer, trying to decipher what exactly he had meant, or more specifically why this was so important.

“The whole jar?”

“Not yet,” the smaller boy explained. “But I’m going to. You can’t tell anybody, ‘Bastian, it’s a secret between you and me.”

“Alright.” Sebastian’s brow creased slightly. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

It was easy to tell that the question had annoyed Jim when his eyes narrowed all of a sudden, and his knee dug slightly into Sebastian’s chest as he crawled closer into the blond’s lap.

“They make me feel worse, I’m better without them.”

When Sebastian appeared still unconvinced, Jim scrunched his face up in annoyance.

“You think I’m mad too,” he sniffed accusingly. “Don’t you?”

Jim was doing it on purpose, trying to make the blond feel bad for doubting him. With perfect ease he pretended to outstretch his bottom lip into a pout, and bit down forcefully on his tongue so that his eyes proceeded to well with tears. It must have worked as within seconds the expression across Sebastian’s face turned to one of pure horror, and he began to shake his head adamantly in disagreement.

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t say it but you _thought_ it.”

Sebastian emitted an eventual sigh of defeat, and slowly wrapped his arms around Jim’s torso to cradle him. Jim felt smaller, as if he hadn’t been eating, or maybe it was just his overprotective side getting the better of him again. While he held him in his arms the raven-haired boy’s head nestled instinctively against his chest, where soon Jim could feel Sebastian’s fingers beginning to comb gently through his hair. Like a cat he purred immediately in content, lifting his head only when he was satisfied so that he could stare the older boy directly in the eyes, who quickly stopped petting his hair and looked down into his lap.

“Sorry, Jim.”

“Don’t be stupid, ‘Bastian,” Jim tutted dismissively. “Maybe I am mad. You could be right.”

“But you aren’t mad.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re my friend,” Sebastian spoke defensively in response, earning a disbelieving huff from Jim.

“What’s that got to do with anything? ”

“Because I wouldn’t be friends with a crazy person.”

“Doesn’t matter if you want to be my friend or not.” The smaller boy rolled his eyes and emitted a tedious groan. “You’re mine forever anyway. The scar on your hand proves it.”

Both of their attentions shifted to the palm of Sebastian’s hand, where in the faint light of early afternoon the scar was perfectly visible. It was smaller than it had been to start with, now only a thin white strip as opposed to something much more gruesome. Out in public it was barely even visible, it was only at night when Sebastian would sometimes stare at it in bed, and recall the day when he’d allowed Jim to carve the penknife into his skin during his initiation ceremony. It felt like a lifetime ago. He flexed his hand back and forth while Jim watched with morbid curiosity, and he even allowed the smaller boy to touch it when he sensed he was becoming restless. Jim’s touch tickled; it was like something soft brushing against his palm, tracing the pattern of his scar up and down with as much care as he could possibly muster. It was only when Jim pulled away that Sebastian eventually looked up, and noticed that Jim was looking at him expectantly.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“That’s not the point,” Jim corrected him, revealing the identical scar on his own palm, which in contrast was still pink from where it hadn’t fully healed yet. “The point is it’s permanent. It means no matter what happens you aren’t allowed to leave me. You’re always going to belong to me.”

Then, while Sebastian was still staring bemusedly at his own hand, he leant forward and pressed a tiny kiss to his lips, and mumbled the final words against his freckle-covered skin.

“It means I own you.”


	23. Jim's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks pass, Sebastian's time at St. Matthew's is reaching the end.

He returned on Monday morning to find that news of Sebastian’s fight had spread across the whole school, as well as Sebastian sulking furiously on top of the bike shed roof. Since learning that he could climb his way up using the railing beneath as a platform he’d managed to mount the metal structure with relative ease, and was sitting cross-legged with a scowl when Jim spotted him before the start of lessons that day. Sebastian didn’t bother looking up when Jim approached, nor did he even react when the younger boy stopped accusingly in-front of the shed and proceeded to fold his arms.

“You can’t stay up there forever.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve got extra rugby tonight, Mister Stevens will be angry if you don’t show up.”

“I’m not going.”

Jim was hardly a fan of Sebastian’s temper, but there wasn’t much he could do when Sebastian was sat almost eight feet above him. Unlike his blond counterpart he wasn’t tall enough to climb up onto the bike shed roof by himself; all he could do was stand at the bottom and hope that once the red mist cleared Sebastian would clamber down again, even if it required some forceful persuasion. Right now that didn’t seem very likely; Sebastian hadn’t heard the bell, either that or he had chosen to ignore it, and his lanky frame was hunched right over so that he was staring directly at the ground. The raven-haired boy caught sight of his face, still twisted and glowering, however he, unlike Sebastian, was eager to get to lessons. They were studying magnetism in science and he didn’t want to miss it.

“Is this about what happened last week?”

Jim waited, noting how Sebastian’s ears pricked at the mention of the fight. He didn’t respond immediately, but when he did his voice was full of bitterness.

“Everybody knows.”

“Is that what you’re so upset about?” Jim demanded, rolling his eyes incredulously.

Sebastian shrugged, still refusing to look Jim in the eye. Their conversation was accompanied now by the rough bark of Mister Blake’s voice in the distance as he ordered everybody to line up; Jim sometimes thought that he took his role at deputy headmaster a little too seriously, but Mister Blake’s strict nature must have come down to the fact that he was ex-military. He was a paratrooper, Jim only knew that because he’d asked Sebastian to explain it to him once; ’ _a soldier who jumps out of planes with a parachute_ ’ the taller boy had expressed eagerly during one church Christmas service, where’d they’d been taken begrudgingly by the school to spend the morning listening to boring sermons and sing hymns. Sebastian knew lots about the army, from all of the different soldiers and their ranks to what types of weapons they used. He was adamant that he didn’t want to become a soldier, despite the fact that last week he’d bought himself an army magazine from the corner shop and had it currently displayed pride of place on his bedroom wall, replacing the Irish rugby team poster he’d previously had up.

“You’re being a big baby, ‘Bastian,” Jim continued. “You always get into fights, nobody cares if you hit that boy. He deserved it, you told me yourself.”  
  
“Mister Stevens does.” When Sebastian spoke again his voice sounded more upset than angry, and crackled slightly at the end like Jim had never heard before. “He says if I get into any more fights then I’m banned from going to the match.”

It was odd to see Sebastian so distressed, yet it still wasn’t enough for Jim to feel any ounce of pity towards him. On the contrary as he spoke Jim’s lips curled into a cruel smile; Sebastian’s sorry state was beginning to make his stomach bubble with excitement, not because he enjoyed it when Sebastian was sad, but because it meant he could be the one to help him. Admittedly it was a little hard when Sebastian was all the way up on the bike shed roof, but Jim had an idea of how to get him down.

“Then I’ll help you control your temper,” he cooed, his shrill voice brimming with eagerness.

And to his relief, it was enough to get Sebastian to tentatively lift his head.

“How?”

“If you stay out of trouble then...” Jim stopped to think about it, sucking his breath in deep concentration. “… I’ll make you deputy of the Grosvenor Gang. _My_ deputy.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like being a right hand man,” he explained thoughtfully. “It means you’re going to be very important from now on."

Jim was only five minutes late to class in the end, where Mrs O’Reilly had already started her lesson on the different types of magnets. He’d expected to be shouted at, but when he walked through the door he’d been greeted by a sea of stares including that of Mrs O’Reilly, who’d merely paused to offer him a gentle smile and a mellow ‘ _welcome back, James_ ’ as he slipped into his seat and proceeded to tug off his coat. He didn’t like being stared at, so when Mrs O’Reilly picked up her stick of chalk to continue he’d hastily buried his head in his workbook and kept his head down for the remainder of the lesson until their inquisitive gazes eventually shifted elsewhere.

Jim’s uniform had been crisply ironed for his return to school. Before leaving he’d stood impatiently on the doormat while Kirstie fixed his tie and complained about the knots in his hair; she’d been more worried than usual that morning, to the extent where she hadn’t even noticed that yet again he hadn’t taken his pills, which were hidden discreetly in the pocket of his blazer where nobody could see them. The bottle was still in the cupboard, now virtually empty, which caught Kirstie’s eye as she finished pouring milk onto his favourite bowl of cereal. She didn’t say anything, but when he watched her closely Jim could see her smiling to herself, and how her whole body seemed to relax a little more with relief as she closed the cupboard door. Her relief was evident when she even let Jim wear his paper crown to school that morning, a decision that ordinarily she would have frowned upon, but today it seemed as though she hadn’t even thought twice about it.

The boys on his table were discussing what they had done during the weekend, a sound which was becoming increasingly annoying as Jim tried to complete his work. More specifically the conversation appeared to be fixed on David as he recounted a camping trip his uncle had taken him on; at the start of term Jim had been moved to a table with David, Leon, and Felix, who had recently moved over to Dublin from France. Neither Leon or Felix spoke much, Felix had the excuse that he didn’t know very much English, it was usually just them listening to whatever David had to say and occasionally chipping in to ask a question. Jim had never spoken to David, or anybody else on his table for that matter. Nobody in his class liked him very much; he’d gotten that impression when he’d sat down to find that Leon had moved all of his belongings away from him, and was watching him warily from the corner of his eye as if he was worried that Jim might do something unpleasant. He was shorter than the rest of the boys in his class, scrawnier too, however he made up for it with his cleverness. Since the start of the year Mrs O’Reilly had started giving him the same work as Sebastian’s class, and had even suggested the possibility of moving up a year and completing his exams early.

The worksheet that Mrs O’Reilly had given him was on magnetic compasses, the same work he’d seen Sebastian complete only a couple of days ago. Sebastian always complained whenever he had science homework to do, and spent half his time huffing and scribbling out his wrong answers instead of actually attempting to solve them. Jim on the other hand was fascinated by it; he didn’t like physics nearly as much as he liked chemistry, but that was only because in chemistry there were so many more substances to play with. He was looking forward to secondary school since, according to Sebastian, he’d actually be able to conduct his own experiments, with Bunsen burners and beakers and all the things you weren’t allowed to do at St. Matthew’s. Jim’s school now was only small, a remote little Victorian building on top of the hill surrounded by greenery. It wasn’t anything special, and cared solely about Jesus and the Bible instead of anything worth any actual interest. Every assembly they were made to press their hands together and pray, repeating the same nonsense verse about daily bread and temptation in their identical, pine green blazers and stupid knee-length shorts.

“You’ve been crying again.”

“N-No I haven’t.”

“It’s all over your face, Jim. Your eyes are all puffy.”

Sebastian was wearing his rugby kit, even though it wasn’t Friday.

It was the final week before the older boy was due to play his first rugby match, and Mister Stevens had made it very clear that anybody without their kit wouldn’t be allowed to travel up to Rathdown where the game was being held. It was the afternoon after lessons had ended, where Sebastian was stood with Jim in the corner of the playground, gently trying to wipe away the tears that had fallen on Jim’s cheek with the tip of his thumb. Jim was squirming and wriggling uncomfortably, but for the most part he stood quietly while the blond fussed over him, his head hung low and his face scrunched up in humiliation.

“They stole my pencil case and threw it on the roof.”

“Was it David?"

“Mm.” Jim’s voice was despondent, and he kicked sullenly at a stone on the ground.

“I told you I’d kill him if he did it again!” Sebastian protested, only for the raven-haired boy to glare at him.  
  
“Can’t,” he reminded him sourly. “Not yet anyway… You have your match next week. Plus I’ve got a spelling test tomorrow, I need to concentrate.”

The blond pulled away and Jim winced, wiping the remains of his tear-stained cheeks with the back of his sleeve. Since returning to school his attitude had changed. Even Sebastian had started to notice the change in Jim’s moods since he’d stopped taking his pills; he was more erratic and less playful, and was asleep most of the time whenever Sebastian tried to visit him. Jim blamed it on the after effects, that after a couple of days when the antidepressants had worn off he’d be fine again, but today was another one of his bad days, and his second crying fit of the week.

“You got full marks on your maths test yesterday,” Sebastian prompted, crouching down slightly to catch a dribble of water that had caught on Jim’s chin. He was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t working. “That’s good.”

“It was on fractions,” Jim explained tensely. “Fractions are easy.”

“So they are.”

The days continued like that, continued for weeks until it was almost Easter and the start of the Summer term.

Sebastian’s first rugby match was a triumph, and after three more games he’d been promoted to captain, replacing Connor McKelly who was moving to a different school fifteen miles away. In Jim’s opinion it was ’ _about time_ ’ that Sebastian became captain, and showed no sign of surprise when the blond announced his achievement one day in the woods while they’d been hunting for ladybirds to squash. Jim had been the first to find one hiding behind a bush, covered in pretty black polka dots and a bright red shell. He’d proceeded to hold it up carefully in-front of his face before crushing it forcefully between his fingers, watching disinterestedly as the insect stopped struggling and descended into a ball of mush.

Jim still hadn’t been to any matches, despite Sebastian’s countless attempts to persuade him. Rugby was a drag; there was nothing appealing about standing in the depths of a cold, muddy field, onlooking a group of prepubescent boys ramming into each other like bulls. As exams loomed he found himself preoccupied with revision, unlike Sebastian who hadn’t touched a single one of his homework books since the start of April. With permission from the headmaster Jim had been allowed to sit his maths and science tests a year early; he’d be taking them at the same time as Sebastian, the only difference being that while Sebastian was moving to secondary school he’d be the one staying behind. There was one final rugby game before the end of the year against St. Gregory’s, one that even Jim couldn’t avoid.

“Should we start with multiplication or division?”

“Too easy, ask me something more difficult.”

He’d invited Sebastian round that night to help him with his homework, or more specifically Kirstie had been the one to invite him in hopes that his presence might help to cheer Jim up. While dinner cooked downstairs Jim laid sprawled in a star position on his bedroom carpet, with Sebastian sat cross-legged next to him reading aloud from the pages of his maths book. It was three weeks since Jim had last touched a single one of his antidepressants, and his inability to concentrate was starting to irritate him. Recently it was as if the circuits in his brain had malfunctioned, and as a result everything was starting to feel fuzzy. He couldn’t tell if it was because of his lack of medication or because the pressure of tests was starting to get to him, but stress wasn’t something Jim was good at handling. So far he’d been sick twice in the course of three days, and been forced to clean up the mess before either one of his foster parents arrived home from work and realised something was wrong.

He rolled over onto the side, picking up one of the biscuits on the plate Kirstie had left for them.

“Polynomials, ask me about those.”

“They won’t be on the test Jim, they’re too complicated,” Sebastian reminded him, eyeing the plate of biscuits before deciding not to take one, despite the fact that he wanted to. Instead he kept watch on Jim, who had sat up momentarily only so that he could eat his own chocolate biscuit.

“You’re my deputy now, you’re supposed to do as I say,” the smaller boy pointed out, or at least that’s what it sounded like he was saying with half a biscuit crammed in his mouth.

He looked expectantly to Sebastian, who hesitated reluctantly before flipping through to the back page of Jim’s maths book to find what the smaller boy was looking for.

_“Boys! Dinner’s ready!”_

“Ignore her.”

Sebastian, who had been midway through closing the book, scowled at Jim’s instructions.

“You haven’t had dinner in two days, you need to eat properly,” he sighed exasperatedly. “It’s sausages and ketchup. I thought you liked it?”

“I do,” Jim shrugged mindlessly, dusting the leftover crumbs from his lips. “But I’m not hungry, I’m busy.”

“Jim-"

“Or ask me about logarithms… I’m good at those.”

After casting one defeated look towards the door Sebastian slowly crawled over to where Jim was, lying down next to him and mirroring his stare towards the ceiling. Now that he was close he could smell the chocolate around Jim’s lips, and the strong scent of detergent pouring from the smaller boy’s blazer. Sebastian outstretched a hand, and managed a weak smile of relief when he felt Jim take it with his own. He brushed gentle circles around the raven-haired boy’s palm, which was noticeably softer and more babylike than his own.

“You don’t have to be worried you know, about the test, if that’s what getting to you.”

“Worrying about things is stupid,” Jim mumbled vaguely, his ebony stare still fixed on the ceiling above, where if he stared long enough his eyes began to sting and he could start to see patterns in the paintwork. “The only thing we should worry about is the end of the universe, but even that’s pointless. When the Sun dies we’ll all be dead anyway and there’ll be nothing left… Just empty matter.”

“Empty matter?”

“Mm-hm,” Jim turned to look at Sebastian briefly, snapping off the remaining half of one of the biscuits and placing it against his lips, which Sebastian obediently took a bite of. “We’re all mostly just empty matter. Nothingness. Even if it doesn’t look like it.”

Unable to comprehend such a fact, Sebastian kept quiet and nibbled gingerly on the edge of his biscuit. He tended not to try and dispute Jim on anything science related; Jim knew far more about it than he did, and the very thought of empty space was enough to give him a headache. After finishing his biscuit he closed his eyes momentarily, and opened them to discover that Jim had moved to on top of a chest and curled himself up into a tight ball. Jim wasn’t very good at expressing his feelings aloud, but Sebastian recognised his restless behaviour enough to know that he was frightened. Frightened of what? He didn’t know. Jim Moriarty was more confusing anybody he’d ever met.

“You could move to secondary school with me,” Sebastian suggested gently once his arms were wrapped around the smaller boy’s frame, softly coaxing through his dark hair. “You’re clever enough, they’d let you do it… Move up a year early.”

“I already asked.”

“And what did they say?”

“That I can’t,” Jim mumbled into the fabric of Sebastian’s school uniform. “I’m not allowed to sit my English test early, my writing isn’t good enough.”

“Oh.”

They’d spent so long upstairs that their dinners were probably starting to get cold, but despite the incessant rumbling of his stomach Sebastian made no attempt to move. He didn’t want to disrupt Jim, who was spread comfortably on top of his chest, his head propped against where his heart was beating steadily. Jim hadn’t moved for a long time, and made no sign of doing so when Kirstie called them a second time to come downstairs for dinner. Dinner was the last thing on Jim’s mind, which was filled almost entirely with an unexplainable wave of sadness, gnawing at every corner of his brain. He’d experienced this type of feeling before; he wasn’t sad enough to cry, although he’d been rather good at that lately, he just wanted to close his eyes and forget about everything. His chest felt heavy, and his whole body wanted to sleep.

Sebastian stayed for later that evening, mainly so that he could keep an eye on Jim incase he suffered another one of his bad turns. When Sebastian eventually stood up Jim remained glued to the floor, this time with his face buried against the carpet so that only the back of his raven-coloured hair was on display. While he waited he helped himself to another couple of biscuits, leaving the rest incase Jim decided that he was hungry and wanted some too. But naturally he didn’t. Sebastian prowled back and forth, walking up and down the bedroom carpet so many times that he soon lost count, occasionally glancing over to his smaller counterpart to see if he had moved. As his stomach continued to rumble he eventually gave in and ate the final remaining biscuits on the plate, realising that by now the plate of sausages and ketchup he’d been craving had probably been scraped into the bin.

“Sebastian?”

The first sign of noise came over an hour later, by which time Sebastian had stopped pacing and resumed his spot beside Jim again.

Sebastian opened his eyes to look over, and was greeted at once by a delicate kiss to his cheek, lingering only for a few seconds before it disappeared again. It was Jim’s kiss, there was no doubt about it, especially when the lips that had kissed him were nice. Not only were they soft, but they’d also been covered in crumbs, and Jim had a terrible habit of forgetting to wipe his mouth after he’d eaten. When Jim pulled away however he seemed to consider his next words, but after a few slow seconds of contemplation he shook his head, closing his eyes once more and resting his head back against the carpet. Though he’d wanted to say more, in the end only one singular word escaped his lips, enough for him to be content.

“Nothing.”


	24. Sebastian’s Last Day of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the last day of school arrives things don't go as planned. Sebastian finds closure, and is left to start thinking about his future.

The final rugby match of the year took place on the last day before Summer, or what Jim liked to bitterly describe it as: ’ _Sebastian’s last day of freedom_ ’.

It came as an end to their exams and an end to Sebastian’s time at St. Matthew’s, a final celebratory game before the majority of the team moved on to their new schools in different parts of the city. In the week leading up to the match even Mister Stevens was in good spirits; he’d stopped Sebastian in the corridor to congratulate him on his hard work, and gifted him with a small bar of chocolate which he’d shared with Jim in the playground that same morning. Sebastian was in an equally eager mood, like he always was in the run up to a match. He’d finished his final maths test that Monday; it was a lot harder than what he’d anticipated, especially the question where he’d been asked to solve a particularly difficult ratio, but the thought of maths was nothing compared to the prospect of leaving school and embarking on what he and Jim had already agreed would be the best summer holiday of their lives. With his pocket money Jim had recently bought a toy dart gun, which he and Sebastian were planning to test out on the pigeons in the woods the following week.

Since the end of their exams Jim’s erratic tendencies appeared to have subdued, and even Sebastian was surprised when the smaller boy agreed to accompany him to the playing fields after school so that he could get some final practice in before the game against St. Gregory’s. While Sebastian practiced his goal-scoring Jim lounged on the grass beside him, picking at the buttercups and flicking through the pages of his latest sudoku book. Whenever Sebastian scored a goal Jim tried to raise his head in time to make it look as though he’d been paying attention, but after realising that Jim was more invested in his puzzle book Sebastian didn’t mind so much, and even smiled when he spotted the stray buttercup tucked behind Jim’s ear. He loved how rugby made him feel, like he was electric, like he was a ruthless predator and everybody else around him was his prey. He’d even kept his promise to Mister Stevens that he wouldn’t get into anymore fights, and for the past month he’d managed to stay out of any trouble, even when the boys in the changing rooms purposely tried to rile him up. But even they knew that Sebastian was one of their strongest players, and without him their chances of winning were zero.

When the telephone call came on the morning of the big game it was nothing out of the ordinary, or at least that was what Sebastian assumed until his father called him downstairs into the kitchen for a talk. He arrived feeling already tense; he’d promised to meet Jim that morning so that they could cycle to school together, but in the desperate search to find his trainers he was already running late. When Sebastian entered the kitchen he was half-dressed in his kit, his trainers, which he’d found under his bed, clutched protectively in his grip and dangling by his side. He’d already mentally prepared himself for a brief, congratulatory speech about finishing school, not what appeared to be the opposite, his father sat waiting for him with a discouraging, sombre expression.

“That was Mister Hassan on the phone, from the corner shop.”

In that moment the world around him seemed to slow, and Sebastian looked uncomfortably down at his feet, knowing what was next.

“He told me he received a tip off from somebody who claims to know about the break-in that happened a few weeks ago.” Even though he wasn’t looking, Sebastian could feel his father’s eyes burning into the back of his neck. There was disappointment in his voice, not anger, or at least that was Sebastian thought until he spoke again and realised he’d been wrongly mistaken.

“He told me it was you and a friend who were responsible.”

“That’s not true.”

“Look at me, Sebastian.”

Sebastian reluctantly did as he was told, clenching his jaw and raising his head. Now he could properly see the expression on his father’s face, the way he was trying so hard not to lose his temper despite how vigorously the corners of his lips were twitching. When he next spoke there was a wobble in his voice, and a low rumble from the back of his throat as if he couldn’t quite muster the words he wanted to. 

“Did you do it?”

“Yes.”

Sebastian’s response was greeted by an audible sigh from the older man, who raised a hand to his head and gently began to massage his temple.

“But it wasn’t our fault,” Sebastian added hastily, his face reddening in adamance. “I needed money for my rugby kit… Plus it wasn’t me who came up with the idea, it was J-"

Sebastian’s sentence faltered at the final word. He quickly closed his mouth, deciding that by mentioning Jim’s name it risked getting them both into even more trouble. Thankfully his father hadn’t heard; he stood up from his seat and paced once around the table, before coming to a stop in his original position and placing a hand on the back of his chair to steady himself. The ashtray on the table was still fizzling with broken cigarette embers, making Sebastian lose his concentration. He blinked a couple of times before looking back at his father, trying to ignore the stench of nicotine burning through his nostrils. But it was hard to focus, especially when he could hear Jim impatiently sounding his bike bell outside.

“He wants me to pay the cost of the damage.” He heard his father say, which steered his attention away from the ashtray and reminded him of the conversation at hand. “All of it. Every piece of broken glass and stolen good. You know how much that is? Over one hundred pounds.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to?” The old man repeated in bemusement. “Sometimes I wonder if I did a bad job of raising you, Sebastian, if maybe I should have just left it to your mother.”

Sebastian hadn’t prepared himself for such a nonchalant mention of his mother, which immediately caused his fists to ball and his eyes to narrow in utmost horror. If it had been one of the other boys at school then he wouldn’t have even thought twice about pouncing on them, but in standing there in front of his father his legs felt like jelly, and for some unexplainable reason he felt insignificant and small. For the first time in months he was thinking about her again, her straw-coloured hair and her smile big enough to light up a room, and although he couldn’t properly see his father through the thick shroud of cigarette smoke Sebastian didn’t hesitate to fire back in retaliation.

“I wish you had.”

He’d envisioned his argument to sound similar to something a drill sergeant might say, or a captain giving commands to his platoon whilst they were under attack on the battlefield. The eleven-year-old hadn’t expected for his voice to sound so weak, or for his jaw to quiver as he tried to hold back his tears of anger. Frustration for the four years he’d spent without her, not knowing why. Right now felt like the opposite to when he was playing rugby; when he was out on the field he felt confident, as if he was on top of the world, only now he’d come crashing down to reality and his adrenaline had was gone.

“She would have understood” he continued feebly, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. “She was always nice, you just don’t understand because you scared her away.”

“I didn’t make her leave, Sebastian.”

“Then why isn’t she here?”  
  
“Because she was the one who chose to leave.”

The words didn’t register with the eleven-year-old at first, not until he took a step back and felt the weight on his shoulders suddenly collapse.

“She left in the middle of the night,” continued his father’s guilty apology, but the words sounded like muffled distortions in Sebastian’s ears, unable to register properly. “She didn’t want to tell you because she knew you’d ask questions. I only ever got one letter a month after she’d gone, to tell me she was engaged and living in Killarney. I never heard anything after that.”

“She didn’t say goodbye.”

“Sebastian-"

But the words didn’t reach Sebastian in time. He managed to block out every last sound until he’d slammed the door shut behind him and taken off down the road, not even stopping to give Jim a reasonable explanation as to where he was going, who was still stood irritably waiting for him outside on the pavement. Sebastian felt like a rocket as he walked, storming down the road without even stopping to process where he was going first. The faster he walked the more blurry his vision grew, but he was going too quickly to even acknowledge the painful burning on the bottom of his feet from the force of his trainers colliding against the ground. With the back of his sleeve he begrudgingly wiped the tears from his eyes, and trekked up the roadside to the only place he knew where to go, ignoring the blazing hot sun as it glazed over his face.

It was like seeing red. One minute Jack O’Donavan had been laughing at him, the next he was on the floor pouring with blood.

It had all happened so quickly; Sebastian couldn’t remember storming into the changing rooms, or even what Jack had said to make him fly into such a frenzied fit of rage. Since Connor McKelly’s transfer to a new school Jack had taken his old position of chief arsehole, one he appeared to be fitting into extremely well. Sebastian couldn’t remember the last time he’d encountered Jack without receiving some sort of insult or taunt, whether it be about the scruffiness of his uniform or the fact he’d been spotted holding hands with Jim behind the bike shed. Usually if he kept his head low enough and bit his tongue then Sebastian could ignore him, but before their match had even started that day one off-hand comment about his trainers had been enough to send him into a catastrophic spiral of anger.

He’d pinned Jack down against the ground, his knees digging sharply into the other boy’s chest, before proceeding to punch him what must have been at least five times. Sebastian only acknowledged the fifth punch after hearing an almighty crunch when his fist struck Jack’s nose, by which time he’d already been torn away and restrained by an out-of-breath Mister Stevens, who was shouting words he couldn’t hear and ordering everybody to stand back. Just as his rage was beginning to dissipate Sebastian could see the faces of his teammates, all stood surrounding him as if they’d just witnessed a barbaric murder. It might as well have been; when he groggily turned his head Sebastian caught sight of Jack, who was still sprawled on the floor whimpering and snivelling like a baby. His whole torso was drenched from top to bottom in thick blood, faint droplets of which had dribbled onto the floor and were now staining the plastic-coated tiles. The worst part was Jack’s face, which had taken the brunt of Sebastian’s punches and now resembled a sorry mess of blood and skin. Jack’s howling and groaning made his injuries seem worse then they actually were, but any chance of reasoning with Mister Stevens would have to wait until the blond’s breathing had slowed and his heart didn’t feel like it was going to explode out of his chest. He was forcefully escorted from the changing rooms with Mister Stevens steering him by the shoulders, and had to make the conscious effort to place one foot in front of the other so that he didn’t accidentally stumble. Now that his anger was gone he felt sick; although Mister Stevens hadn’t said anything yet Sebastian could tell that he was displeased, and that his vow of silence was just a way of hiding his true disappointment.

He spent the day in the reflection room: a small, four-walled room with beanbags and a pot of colouring pencils on the table you were supposed to use to write down your feelings with, which were used mainly when somebody’s parents had gotten divorced or if the family pet had died. When one of the teachers came to collect him he was curled up on one of the beanbags in the corner and hadn’t moved for the entire afternoon, not even to ask to go to the toilet. Despite his aching joints and sore head, when he was finally allowed to leave Sebastian marched out of the room with determination, gently rubbing the hand he’d used to punch Jack with. It was already starting to bruise; there were small patches of red and purple on his knuckles, which stung whenever he tried to touch them. But he didn’t feel bad about what he’d done to Jack. He’d felt a rush like no other, one of pure excitement and satisfaction. Throughout the day he’d found himself repeating the moment in his head, reliving the flood of adrenaline he’d experienced the moment his fist had contacted the other boy’s face. Despite everything that had happened, Sebastian found himself feeling oddly relieved, even when he recognised the sounds of his fellow teammates playing without him outside, all cheering and shouting to one another. He was still happy, regardless of the fact he wasn’t on the pitch with them, because for the first time in years now he had nothing to worry about. As he paraded his way through the excess of empty corridors Sebastian could feel a noticeable spring in his step, and he left school for the last time that afternoon with a numb smile plastered across his freckle-spotted face.

“What will you do now you’re not allowed to play rugby?”

The question came from Jim, who was perched comfortably beside Sebastian on the warm bed of grass. Just above the horizon the sun had begun to set, filling the sky with a deep, burning red which have it the impression it was on fire. They had the perfect view of the sunset from the hillside, where both Sebastian and Jim were sprawled on their backs, staring lazily up at the array of colours with identical expressions of content on their faces. Their blazers and bags had been strewn on the grass behind them, while their ties were fastened around their heads like bandanas the soldiers in war films always seemed to wear. Sebastian had helped Jim to knot his tie, which was covered partially by his floppy mess of black hair, and even smeared some mud across his own cheeks in true warrior-like fashion, just like a Spartan. Both of them were revelling in the fact that St. Matthew’s had lost their final rugby match of the year in an ugly defeat against St Gregory’s; it was Jim who’d informed Sebastian of the loss, and how Mister Stevens had apparently gotten so angry that he’d punched a hole in the changing room wall. Sebastian had laughed when he’d first heard the news, and tried to imagine the other teachers trying to calm down the hairy, middle-aged rugby coach while he raged, which seemed like enough karma for what had happened earlier that afternoon.

It was Mister Stevens who had informed him after his fight that he was to be permanently banned from playing rugby, while smoking a cigarette lounged against the desk in his office. The conversation went just how Sebastian had expected it to; without wasting his time Mister Stevens had explained that because of his anger problems Sebastian would no longer be allowed to complete in any rugby tournaments when he moved to his new school, and that his rugby jersey and kit were all to be revoked as punishment. Unwillingly Sebastian had handed over his prized jersey to the coach, whose cigarette kept causing him to cough gruffly, before earning a faint ‘ _good luck, Sebastian_ ’ as he filed out of the room in silence. On his way out he passed Jack O’Donavan waiting to be collected by his mother, receiving a furious glower as he walked down the corridor. Sebastian wouldn’t admit aloud that the sight of Jack’s broken nose made him secretly happy, but the bruising on his knuckles and the loss of his rugby jersey were all worth it.

As the sun continued to sink, Sebastian tilted his head to the side and pondered the question he’d been asked.

“You have to be sixteen to join the army,” he mused aloud, squinting in the orange evening light.

“You’d join?” asked Jim in return, who rolled onto his side and proceeded to pout.

“Maybe.”

The eleven year old reclined back against the grass and smiled when Jim approached and came to rest his head against his lap. Sebastian brushed protectively through his dark locks of hair, admiring the way in which the light glimmered against Jim’s face and made him look delicate. Like porcelain. His stare remained fixed on the sky as the final trace of sunlight vanished beneath the horizon, where with it the glorious heat of the summer’s day began to slowly cool. According to the weather forecast it had been the hottest day of the year so far, and the perfect end to the tumultuous year of school they’d just endured. When the sun rose again the following morning it would be the beginning to the summer holidays, one long month where nothing mattered and they could do whatever they pleased. Because it was his last holiday before secondary school Jim had agreed to make it extra special, and as leader of the Grosvenor Gang he’d even given Sebastian special permission to play with his brand new toy dart gun, a privilege given to only those Jim trusted the most.

“You won’t miss me too much, I’ll come back,” Sebastian insisted, outstretching his hand to Jim, who had become fascinated by the bruises on his knuckles and wanted to touch them.

Although they still hurt Sebastian did his best to conceal his wince whenever the smaller boy prodded his skin, and relaxed ever so slightly when Jim leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

“Very well.” Jim was unconvinced, but nodded his head nevertheless. “As long as you don’t forget about me.”

Sebastian grinned and shook his head.  
  
“I couldn’t forget about you,” he promised reassuringly. “I’d write you letters, hundreds of them… every day if you’d like.”  
  
“And you’ll think about me? Every second you’re awake?”

“Course I will.”

When Jim sat up Sebastian assumed it was because he’d grown tired and wanted to leave, not because he wanted something. But upon opening his mouth he found it quickly covered by the smaller boy’s hand, who waited until Sebastian was silent before leaning in ever so slightly so that they were almost touching. The mud on the end of Jim’s nose tickled, and in a brief second Jim had kissed him on the forehead. Jim’s kisses were nothing out of the ordinary at this point, yet somehow this one felt different. As Jim stood up again and brushed the grass stains from his trousers Sebastian was quick to follow his lead, and after a few seconds he noticed that Jim had picked up a fallen tree branch from the ground and was clutching it tightly in his pale grasp.

“To the Grosvenor Gang.”

Although his arms were only small, Jim thrust the stick into the air and pointed it at the sky before smiling victoriously. Sebastian, unable to contain his amusement, located the nearest, stray stick he could find and proceeded to do the same, this time joining in with the chorus of loud war cries. His participation made Jim giggle, who was eyeing him excitably from the side, a coy smile stretched across his lips.

“Attaboy, Sebby,” he cooed delightedly, his shrill voice thick with pride. “You’ll make a wonderful soldier.”

And even though he wouldn’t say it out loud, Sebastian hoped it was true.


	25. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian starts secondary school.

Clara Dockerty was eleven, and was also starting at St Cecelia’s that day.

Sebastian had been stood at the bus stop for almost ten minutes, staring obsessively at the timetable and the two pounds worth of bus money his father had left for him. He was waiting for the eight o’clock bus, even though he’d arrived probably far too early out of nervousness. Despite the offer of a lift he’d been adamant that he wanted to go by himself; now that he was eleven he wanted to prove how independent he was, and to make a good first impression at his new school he had to be brave, like a soldier heading into battle, where in this case the battleground was St. Cecelia’s Secondary School. It was the quickest route to school, and he’d already memorised the timetable by watching the other children crowd around the bus stop together at the end of each day.

His chest felt tight as he waited, and to ease his mind he tried recounting the coins in his palm again. Logically he knew he still had the same amount of money as when he’d left, but the longer he stood waiting the faster he could feel his heart starting to pound, and when the little seed of doubt in his mind wouldn’t go away he tried to concentrate by forcing his head up high and proud and puffing out his chest. ‘ _Brave soldier_ ’, he kept reminding himself.

Sebastian had prepared for his new school by laying all of his clothes out on his bed the night before and asking Jim for his opinion. Jim, while sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed, had compared his new blazer to the colour of ketchup, only for Sebastian to firmly correct him that it was actually _maroon_. His new uniform was bigger than his old one, with embroidered gold stripes running down the lapels of his blazer and a threaded crest accompanied by the motto ‘ _Bród agus Rathúnas_ ’, which Jim had informed him meant ‘ _Pride and Prosperity_ ’. He’d been given a list of things he needed to buy for his first day, including a pencil case, ruler, black shoes (which apparently had to be polished), and a striped gold and maroon tie to match his blazer. His father had taken him shopping the previous weekend to get his blazer fitted, where Sebastian had been made to stand awkwardly in the midst of the shop while a stern old lady took his measurements with a tape. It was slightly too big, especially the sleeves which engulfed his hands, but the woman in the shop had assured him that he’d soon grow into it.

The night before leaving he’d laid uncomfortably in bed, unable to even comprehend the idea of sleeping. It was the sight of his uniform hung up in his wardrobe that kept him awake; there was something admittedly strange about it, the complete opposite of the soothing, green uniform he’d worn for the past seven years. It was so different to what he was used to; the gold stripes along the fabric made it seem fancy, like he was attending a posh dinner party not a school. Sebastian wasn’t sure how much he’d fit in. He didn’t want to be known for his fighting, nor did he want people to know where he lived, as if they’d immediately refuse to speak to him when they found out he came from one of the poor parts of the city. When he’d tried on his uniform for Jim the smaller boy had given his approval, accompanied by a small hint of jealousy which Sebastian decided not to comment on. Jim kept him company while he finished packing his bag, occasionally insulting all of the ‘unnecessary’ equipment Sebastian needed for his first day, until finally when it was time for him to go home he’d delivered one of his usual kisses of reassurance, just a small one for luck.

Then again, according to Jim he didn’t need luck.

The bus didn’t arrive until five past eight, where a restless Sebastian found himself squeezed at the back in-front of two girls who looked a few years older than him. He’d given his money to the driver and asked for a ticket, managing to feebly croak out the name of St. Cecelia’s without the lump in his throat getting in the way. Before starting he’d been given a pamphlet with a picture of St. Cecelia’s inside, which now looked a lot smaller in comparison to how the school actually was. When he stepped off of the bus Sebastian was almost worried he’d gotten the wrong stop; the grey building in front of him looked even bigger than he’d imagined it in his head, and suddenly he felt small, like an ant surrounded by giants. It wasn’t like his old school where he’d been the predator, the one everybody knew to stay away from; now there were people practically twice the size of him, who he only could distinguish were students because they were wearing the same maroon blazer as him. He wished he’d had Jim by his side to talk to, who Sebastian knew would have revelled in making fun of all the other students in their stupid skirts and ties. He’d already said goodbye to Jim that morning, in a bittersweet final exchange before the smaller boy had set off for St. Matthew’s on his bike. It had been one of the best summer holidays of their lives, and now that it was over their afternoons of playing in the woods and smashing up car windows were long gone. Both he and Jim were off to their own separate schools, and now, for the first time since Sebastian could remember, he was alone. He was consciously-aware of his oversized blazer beginning to weigh him down as he approached the front entrance, as well as how dry his mouth felt and the fact that he couldn’t raise his head more than a few inches. When he eventually mustered up the courage to look around he spotted a teacher directing who he presumed were other first years in the direction of the hall for an assembly. Following their lead, the eleven year old skulked after them, cementing his hands into his blazer pockets and dragging his shoes unwillingly against the floor. The strangest part was being in such close proximity to girls, who Sebastian had only seen before out on the street or when he passed the all-girl’s school on the corner. They were everywhere, only they were nothing like Jim had described them to be, not monstrous or foul-smelling, especially not the ones who smelt like sweetened perfume. As he passed the different groups of girls on his way to the hall the eleven year old noticed their multicoloured hair scrunchies and half-painted fingernails, and how one particular crowd of fifth years were gushing over the front page of some fashion magazine over by the science block. The sight of so many girls caused Sebastian to stiffen slightly, and he didn’t realise that he’d been subconsciously holding his breath until he found his seat in the crowded assembly hall and exhaled, emitting a shaky sigh to match his now-reddened cheeks.

Sebastian was comforted to find that his first lesson of the day was English, and that when he entered the classroom it was still virtually empty. He recognised a few faces from the welcome assembly they’d had at the start of the day, in which they’d been given their timetables and listened to an introductory speech from the headteacher. Everybody else was relatively quiet, which he assumed was because they were equally just as nervous as he was, sat dotted around waiting for the lesson to begin. After scanning the room Sebastian awkwardly shuffled to the only empty table he could find, dumping his bag down onto the floor and sitting down. For the first few minutes nobody tried to speak to him, which suited him perfectly fine, and he was beginning to grow used to the idea of being alone when a sharp voice interrupted his train of thought.

“You were on my bus.”

“Huh?”

“The bus this morning, I saw you sat by yourself.”

He recognised the girl speaking from their assembly, sat three rows in-front of him with two unmistakable black pigtails. She looked a bit like Jim, not just because her hair was the same colour but because her smile was similarly crooked, the only difference being there was a prominent gap between her top front teeth. When he looked down Sebastian noticed she was wearing a pair of purple, stripy socks, which certainly didn’t match the uniform list they’d been told to comply with, and when the girl spotted him looking she immediately beamed with delight.

“My name’s Clara.”

“Sebastian.”

“Can I call you Seb?” Clara asked, before feeling the need to explain herself. “I call everybody by their nicknames. Like my little brother, his name’s really Samuel but I call him Sammy.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know, because it’s easier I think.”

“Alright, I s’pose.”

Before asking for permission Clara had already sat down on the empty chair beside him and proceeded to adjust her purple socks, which were starting to slide down her ankles. Sebastian, although disappointed that his peace had been disrupted, continued to watch with interest, and couldn’t help but smile gingerly when he saw the book poking out of her schoolbag.

“You like the army?”

He gestured to the book, ‘ _A Soldier’s Handbook for Weapons_.’

“My uncle’s in it, he gave me the book,” Clara informed him confidently, waving to the manual. “He says girls can’t join the army but I’m going to prove him wrong. I’m signing up when school’s over.”

“Me too,” Sebastian agreed sheepishly, feeling an immediate rush of relief upon realising they both had something in common.

Clara had the same thick accent as him, which meant she must have come from a nearby part of the city. Sebastian noted how as she spoke her pigtails appeared to bounce enthusiastically around her head, both tied with bright gold ribbon to match the stripes on their blazers. When Clara began to describe her family he discovered that she lived with her brother and their aunt and uncle, only her uncle was away fighting in Derry so she didn’t get to see him often. He’d wanted to ask why she lived with her aunt and uncle and not her parents, but before he knew it Clara was pestering him about his own personal life.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I have a brother.”

Sebastian wasn’t sure what had compelled him to lie, but hearing Clara talk about her own brother had made him realise how much he wanted one too. He wanted to pretend that he had a normal family, with a brother and a mum and dad who loved each other, maybe even a dog too. He didn’t want to tell Clara about what his family really looked like, or explain why his mother was living three hours away in Killarney and why his father was now seeing a new lady called Natalie. They’d only been dating for two weeks; Sebastian had met her for the first time on Friday when she came for tea, and they’d all sat around the table sharing chips from the chip shop together.

“What’s his name?”

“James,” Sebastian lied again, this time with more confidence. “But he doesn’t like being called that so you have to call him Jim.”

“Can I meet him?” Clara implored, however he firmly shook his head.

“Not yet."

"Why not?"

“He wouldn’t like you,” Sebastian explained, before noticing Clara’s scowl and quickly explaining himself. “He’s only small, he doesn’t like girls. He says they’re annoying.”

“I’m not annoying,” Clara protested.

“Not you,” the blond agreed sheepishly, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He was relieved when the dark-haired girl decided to swiftly change the subject, and watched as she beamed with delight when he revealed that he lived on Grosvenor Street. He couldn’t imagine why anybody would be so excited by the prospect of Grosvenor Street, until Clara made it clear why she had reacted in such a way.

“I live on the road opposite,” she brightly explained. “Saint Mark’s Lane. I think I’ve seen you before, with your mum and your brother. He’s got dark hair and he always wears a crown, right?”

At first Sebastian was confused, until he realised she must have been talking about Kirstie instead of his real mother.  
  
“You always look happy together.”

“Yeah…” Sebastian’s sentence was interrupted when at last they were joined by their English teacher, Mister Finchley, who promptly began to read out the list of new names from his register. He was halfway through his list when Sebastian felt a small nudge to his shoulder, and was surprised when he realised it was Clara, pointing him in the direction of Mister Finchley’s beard. He frowned initially, until she whispered giddily in his ear:

“He has crumbs in his beard. Look.”

And then they were giggling, both of them, their heads bowed so that they didn’t draw attention to themselves. Clara’s giggle was far more high-pitched than his own, but in the excitement of the moment Sebastian hadn’t realised, and was far too busy trying to suppress his laugh without gaining notice from Mister Finchley. By the time the register was over he’d managed to control himself, and once his laughter had subsided he looked up to grin at his new classmate. She grinned straight back at him, and in that moment he realised he’d found a friend, and it didn’t matter that she was a girl.

He stayed with Clara all day, mainly because he didn’t have anybody else to talk to, but also because he was beginning to enjoy her company. At lunchtime they sat together in what was known as the ‘ _pit_ ’, which was basically just another word for the playground. Clara showed him her army handbook so that they could admire all of the pictures, and while they ate their sandwiches she began to disclose more about her life, swinging her legs care-freely back and forth from the bench they were perched on. Sebastian listened intently to everything she had to say, feeling significantly less nervous than he had that morning at the bus stop. Clara’s confidence was partially to thank, and how in her cheery voice she kept referring to him as ’ _Seb!’_ which was a lot less intimidating than being referred to by his full name, something all of his teachers had been doing that morning.

“Sammy’s only seven, but he gets upset when I call him a baby,” she mused, nibbling thoughtfully at the edge of her sandwich. “…It isn’t fair, he _is_ a baby. He’s short for his age, _and_ my aunt still helps him brush his teeth.”

“How come you live with your aunt?” Sebastian asked curiously. He’d already finished his lunch and was playing with the ball of leftover tinfoil in his hand, rolling it up and down his palm to keep himself amused.

“My parents died when I was little.” Clara shrugged her shoulders dismissively.  
  
“Oh… I’m s-"

“Don’t be.” She quickly cut him off. “I was only five so I don’t remember much about them, it was when Sammy had just been born. They were driving on the way to pick up some shopping but apparently my dad didn’t see the car coming the other way. He didn’t brake in time so they crashed, and now I live with dad’s sister.”

Sebastian nodded his head, unsure how else to react to the news that Clara’s parents were both dead. Clara was still munching on her lunch, seemingly unfazed by the conversation at hand, and when she swallowed her mouthful of food she appeared keen to pick up on their conversation from their English lesson.

“How old is Jim?”

“Almost eleven. He’s a year younger than me,” Sebastian began to explain. “But he’s cleverer than other eleven year olds, he knows all about maths and science and he can list all of the elements on the periodic table.”

“You sound proud of him,” Clara teased, earning a glare from the blond.

“I like him a lot,” Sebastian mumbled gingerly, scrunching up the ball of tinfoil in his hand and pocketing it.

“I don’t like my brother.”

“It’s not like that, Jim’s different.”

The bell rung from somewhere far away, and begrudgingly Sebastian rose to his feet. He had double chemistry next which he wasn’t looking forward to, but on the plus side it meant he got to spend another hour-long lesson with Clara. He joined the procession of other students into the school, finding himself squeezed among a crowd of fifth years as he struggled to find his footing. After some stumbling and a lot of shoving he made it out onto the other side; although he wasn’t as nervous anymore it didn’t mean he was any stronger than the older years, who it seemed enjoyed pushing the smaller, first years around like skittles. Sebastian eventually arrived at the science block to find the rest of his class lining up outside, most of them he recognised from his lessons earlier that day.

Chemistry passed slower than he would have liked it to, but in hindsight he’d spent more time staring out of the window and joking with his new friend than doing any actual work. When it was time to leave at the end of the day he milled outside of the door waiting for Clara, who joined him not long afterwards with her backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Are you sure I can’t meet your genius brother?”

“Positive,” Sebastian affirmed with a grin, slowly traipsing out of the corridor and towards the bus stop outside. He took a seat on the bench, and left some room so that Clara could fit into the spot next to him.

His first day hadn’t been half as bad as he’d been expecting, apart from almost getting trampled on by a gang of boys in the hallway. He’d made a friend, even if it was only one, and his father had promised that morning to take him out for a celebratory ice cream if everything went well. While waiting for the bus Sebastian dug around in his pocket for his ticket, and managed to catch brief parts of the boys’ conversation next to him while they discussed how much homework they had to do. It reminded Sebastian of his own homework; he’d only been set one piece by Mister Finchley, a cleverly-titled essay called ‘ _Who Am I?_ ’ So far Sebastian wasn’t sure what to write. According to Mister Finchley they were going to be read out loud to the class next lesson which was why it was important to make them exciting, the only problem was he didn’t have anything exciting to write about yet.

“So does this mean we’re friends?”

Clara laughed, elbowing him sharply in the ribs to which he grunted at.

“I thought that was obvious.”

“I’ve never had a friend who’s a girl before,” Sebastian confessed gingerly, earning a bemused scoff from Clara, who was starting to stare at him like he was mad.

“Then I’m your first?”

“I s’pose.”

At once a wide grin spread across the dark-haired girl’s lips, and just as the bus rolled up to the curb she sprung to her feet and annoyingly reached out to ruffle his hair.

“You’re cute, Seb, you know that don’t you?”


	26. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim isn't happy after finding out about Sebastian's new friend, and stages a plan to get rid of Clara.

“But she’s my friend, why can’t she join?” Sebastian protested, his face scrunched up in disbelief while Jim prowled around the confines of his bedroom, the third lollipop of the day hanging loosely from his mouth.

“Listen to yourself, Sebastian.” Jim rolled his eyes as he spoke, before removing the lollipop briefly so that he could admire the reflection of his tongue in the window pane.

It was bright red, which meant the nurse from his appointment must have given him a strawberry flavour. A change in doctor’s offices meant that he saw a new nurse to get his medication now, one with a much friendlier face than the one he’d had before. He always came back from his appointments brandishing some sort of sweet, which were normally kept in a jar in the waiting room for the children to take on their way home. Jim knew they were just a way of bribing the particularly difficult children to take their pills, but free lollipops were a charm his sweet tooth couldn’t resist, and while the receptionist had been busy on the telephone he’d smuggled a large fistful into his pocket on his way out of the surgery that morning, with the plan of working methodically through them one by one.

“ _She’s_ a girl, an ugly one too.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m making assumptions from what you’ve told me about her,” the smaller boy shrugged dismissively, placing the lollipop back into his mouth and observing Sebastian as he attempted to solve his German homework.

Only one week of school had passed and Sebastian was already up to his ears in homework, which today included an extensive list of adjectives and nouns he needed to learn for his German teacher, Miss Dahrendorf. He’d only had two lessons with her so far but already he had the impression that she was a lot stricter than the rest of his teachers, and wouldn’t appreciate it if he didn’t hand his homework in on time. Jim had helped him a little, but only up to the end of the first page since his knowledge didn’t stretch beyond that. At first Jim had enjoyed hearing all about St. Cecelia’s Secondary School from Sebastian, until Sebastian had subtly revealed the fact that he had a new friend, and spoiled what would have been their first day together all week. And now, as he marched up and down the four walls of his bedroom, his face was etched with a jealous, sulky scowl.

“Clara? What sort of a stupid name is Clara anyway?”

Jim didn’t like Clara, and made no attempt to try and hide his disapproval whenever Sebastian mentioned her in conversation. In-fact he thought the eleven year old spoke about her too much, and could do with having his mouth glued shut to stop him from mentioning her ever again; all Saturday morning he’d been reciting the same, dull things, most of the time without even realising he was doing it. For hours Jim had been subjected to a torturous recollection of Sebastian’s week, how he and Clara both wanted to join the army together, and how Sebastian had been invited round for tea the previous day to meet her aunt and little brother. Jim loathed the thought of Sebastian sitting down at the dinner table with them all, and how afterwards he’d spent the rest of the evening in her bedroom too, despite trying to reassure Jim that all he’d done was sit on her bed and talk about school.

“I promised her you’d make her a gang member,” Sebastian huffed, closing the cover of his German book after finally giving up. He’d probably copy the rest of the answers from somebody on Monday morning, maybe Kate or Archie who he sat on a table with. “She was excited, she likes hearing about you.”

“Then that’s your own fault for getting her hopes up.” Jim couldn’t deny that the thought of Clara being disappointed amused him, much more than the image of her and Sebastian kissing while he wasn’t around.

“You should stop eating those, they’ll ruin your teeth,” Sebastian warned when Jim offered him the half-chewed lollipop, before moving to set it back into his own mouth.

“They help me to concentrate.”

“It’s pure sugar, Jim.”

“Strawberry flavoured,” the smaller boy corrected him irritably. “There’s a difference.”

The lollipop had lost its flavouring anyway, so after a few more despondent sucks Jim disposed of it in the waste paper bin underneath his desk. He stretched out onto the carpet next to the clutter of his own schoolwork which he had yet to complete, but he didn’t see the point in learning about Shakespeare and so he probably wouldn’t try. It wasn’t like Mrs O’Reilly would check it anyway; she was already under surveillance for her obvious alcoholism, after one of the cleaners had found empty gin bottles under her table, and so she spent most lessons crying and threatening to leave the school. Jim had been in her class for almost four years now, and so he knew full-well that she wouldn’t actually leave; normally she just did it for dramatics until the headmaster begrudgingly agreed to let her stay, over and over in an exasperating pattern of meetings and public stand-offs.

“You’re only friends with her ‘cause you feel sorry for her,” Jim pointed out, returning again to the subject of Clara which caused Sebastian to squirm uncomfortably.

“Why would I be?”

“Because you told me her parents died in a car accident,” he explained. “A troubled orphan, ring any bells?”

“You’re not an orphan, Jim.”

“I could be for all I know,” Jim shrugged without emotion, observing Sebastian out of the corner of his eye as he tried to disguise the redness in his cheeks.

“Well I don’t feel bad for her,” Sebastian decided bluntly, getting to his feet. “She’s my mate, okay?You both are. I don’t like you any less just because I’m friends with her too.”

“Where does she live? Your new friend?”

“Err, Saint Mark’s Lane I think. The road opposite.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

“Why?” He then questioned suspiciously.

“No reason,” Jim hummed, shifting the conversation. “Did you make any other friends during your first week?”

“Dunno, I speak to Helen and Danny on my maths table but they already have other friends,” Sebastian explained. “At lunchtimes I normally just sit with Clara in the pit.”

“The what?”

“The pit,” the blond reiterated. “It’s what everyone calls the playground.”

“That’s a rubbish name for it, it sounds like you're in prison.”

Unlike St Matthew’s there were no playing fields or trees at Sebastian’s new school, just a concrete oasis which did nothing to help its intimidating appearance. The pit was no exception; it was completely grey, aside from the odd walls of graffiti which had been sprayed with rude words and pictures. On Friday somebody had carved a swear word into one of the wooden benches, which he and Clara had both snickered at until they’d been told off by a patrolling teacher. As it turned out he knew a lot more swear words than Clara, who’d descended into a fit of laughter when he’d tried explaining them to her. He only knew them from growing up on Grosvenor Street, where at nighttimes the whole road was alive with the sound of drunk fighting and shouting, but thankfully at his new school his knowledge of such words worked to his advantage, and seemed to make him seem mature and cool rather than just a delinquent.

“I should go home, Natalie’s coming round tonight to see my dad.”

At the mention of Sebastian’s father and his new girlfriend, Jim emitted a tedious groan and rolled his eyes.  
  
“Have they had sex yet?” He pestered.

“How should I know?”

“Because they’ve been dating for three weeks, that’s almost a month.”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything,” Sebastian muttered uncomfortably.

“Because all grown ups have sex at some point when they're dating,” Jim informed him, as if it was supposed to be obvious. “…I don’t know why your dad likes her, she speaks too slowly and she never says anything interesting.”

“You’ve only met her once,” Sebastian pointed out, recalling the previous weekend when they’d bumped into Natalie on the doorstep on their way back from playing in the woods. Jim had critiqued her bad grammar, and caused the poor woman to go bright red in the face.

“Still… she’s _boring!_ ”

Jim only knew Saint Mark’s Lane because apparently it was where both of his foster parents had first met during their university days, which they annoyingly never stopped talking about whenever it was their anniversary or if they were reminiscing on the good times. If he perched on his tip-toes he could sometimes see the tops of the houses and chimney sticks out of his bedroom window; it was a small road, with ten identical houses and a sign at the end which angrily stated that there were ‘ _no ball games allowed_ ’. Jim rode his bike there on Monday evening, when he knew Sebastian was busy with homework and both Kirstie and Brian were at work. He knew what house he was looking for, or at least he’d seen the address scribbled down in Sebastian’s blazer pocket and assumed it was the right one.

When he approached the house he was still dressed in his school uniform, which he’d tried to disguise by zipping his hoodie up over the top of his shirt and tie. Like the rest of the houses on the street the cracks in the brickwork were filled with grime and soot, and a conscious effort had been made to maintain the flowerbed and lavender bushes lining the front-garden. A small, gravel pathway led up to the door of the house, which Jim wheeled his bike carefully across after dismounting it and looking around to make sure that nobody was watching. The door was white and looked as though it had been newly painted, and when he knocked he could hear a dog barking from inside, causing him to instantly take a step back. He loathed dogs, mainly this one because it reminded him of the Rottweiler that lived next door.

Jim recognised the boy who opened the door from school; he was a couple of years below him, and couldn’t have been any older than seven or eight judging by how small he was and how the baby fat around his face still hadn’t disappeared yet. Jim tried stealing a peek inside of the house; he spotted the dog that had been barking stood to attention while its tail wagged back and forth, evidently excited by all the commotion from the door, and a red blazer hanging up on the coatrack with the same golden crest which he remembered seeing on Sebastian’s own uniform.

“Is Clara here?”

“She’s upstairs,” the boy explained tentatively, pointing towards the staircase behind him. “She won’t let me in her bedroom, she says I’m not allowed ‘cause I’m her brother.”

The boy surveyed him suspiciously up and down before deciding to open the door a little wider, and after resting his bike against the outside wall Jim stepped over the threshold. He tried to avoid the dog, who kept sniffing him curiously as he passed, before making his way up the staircase to where he’d been directed to go. The house was filled with clutter, from unopened moving boxes to a stack of postcards from Derry that looked important resting pride of place on the mantelpiece. Clara’s room was distinguished from the rest by the fact that she’d deliberately tried to scribble her name on the door, which was etched right in the middle for everyone to see. Aware that he was still being watched by Clara’s little brother, Jim scrunched his nose up and knocked twice on the door, impatiently hopping between both feet while he waited.

It opened, and greeting him was stupid Clara Dockerty, whose face illuminated into a smile the minute she saw him. She wasn’t at all like Jim had envisioned her to be, which made him even more frustrated than he already was; he wished that she was uglier, so then at least he wouldn’t feel jealous of her, but instead she was wide-eyed and brimming with excitement, and smelt a bit like strawberries and air freshener.

“You’re Jim, aren’t you?” was the first thing she asked upon looking him up and down, spotting his brown eyes and mangled black hair.

“How do you know my name?” He demanded, to which the girl seemed to respond with a sympathetic giggle, one which made his skin crawl.

“Seb’s told me all about you.”

“Seb?”

As if Jim didn’t already have enough reasons to hate her, the nickname that Clara used was enough to cement his hatred for her. Only he got to call Sebastian nicknames - but here was Clara, a girl he’d only been friends with for a week - daring to call him _Seb_. In-fact he was so annoyed that Jim didn’t even wait for a response before bluntly cutting to what he wanted to say, interrupting Clara the second she attempted to open her mouth.

“Sebastian doesn’t want to be friends with you anymore,” he informed the girl sharply, narrowing his eyes. “I came to tell you, since he’s too much of a coward to do it himself.”

It took Clara a few moments to register what he had said, and even when she smiled again Jim could tell that it was full of uncertainty. She swallowed uneasily, and looked down towards the stubborn smaller boy. After acknowledging the stern expression on her face she frowned, but only because she wasn’t quite convinced with what she’d been told.

“Did he say that?”

“Yep,” Jim lied, popping the ‘p’ for added emphasis. “He told me last night that he doesn’t like you… because you’re ugly and annoying, and that you’ve got funny teeth."

“Oh.”

Clara’s smile had previously displayed her gapped teeth, but following Jim’s explanation she quickly closed her mouth to hide them. Jim was secretly very pleased by this reaction, however he couldn’t show his delight without spoiling the lie. Instead he folded his arms, and observed Clara with a raised brow, having to tilt his head upwards to reach her height. After all, she was still a year older than him.

“I’m only telling you the truth, just so you know not to hang around him in the future.”

Clara nodded, even if it was hesitant, and fumbled despondently with the ends of her pigtails.

Jim could just about see inside of her bedroom, which was covered from head to toe in different certificates and medals, most of which belonged to the scouts and cadets. They were all for things like camping and sports, and were accompanied by a large football poster which she’d evidently torn from some magazine. There was no trace of pink anywhere, not even on the bedsheets which were covered in green polka dots. The bed itself was cramped and tucked away in the corner of the room; it was hard to imagine Sebastian and Clara squeezed there together on the evening Sebastian had come to visit, especially considering how grotesquely tall Sebastian now was after his latest growth spurt. They must have had to curl up in order to fit, or sit on sit on top of each-other like building blocks, but the idea alone was hideous in itself. There was a faded photograph on the wall of two figures holding a baby, a young man and a woman who Jim presumed were Clara’s parents, and maybe if he’d liked her a little more then he might have felt bad for her. Only he didn’t, and he _wasn’t_ going to feel sympathetic either.

He was doing what was right, for both himself and for Sebastian, even if Sebastian didn’t know it yet.


	27. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's jealousy threatens to get in the way of Sebastian's new friendship.

Sebastian couldn’t understand why when he arrived to English the following week Clara wasn’t sitting in her usual seat beside him, and had chosen a table on the other side of the classroom next to Helen and Lucy. She was quieter than normal, and even when he grinned on his way past she didn’t return the gesture, and turned her head so that she could continue discussing that week’s homework with ginger-haired Helen.

Slightly disgruntled, Sebastian took his own seat at the back of the room and foraged around in his backpack, retrieving his copy of Lord of the Flies while Mister Finchley began to call out the register from the front. They’d only been reading it for a week, yet already the spine of Sebastian’s copy was cracked from where he hadn’t taken very good care of it, and stained slightly on chapter one from where his pen ink had leaked onto the page. Usually he didn’t mind English lessons; he never put his hand up or spoke in-front of the class, but Mister Finchley had complimented him on his writing in their previous lesson, and suggested the possibility of Sebastian joining the school’s creative writing club. So far Mister Finchley was Sebastian’s favourite teacher, even if he did shout sometimes when everybody was being too loud. At break times Sebastian often spotted him lingering outside of the staff room, chatting to the geography teacher and drinking from his flask of tea. Whenever the eleven-year-old approached he was always greeted by a firm smile and the musky stench of cologne from his donkey jacket, and Mister Finchley’s hanging moustache was usually wet at the tips from where he’d accidentally dunked it in his tea.

Throughout the lesson Sebastian kept looking over to see if Clara had noticed him, but each time her head was buried deep in the pages of her book and he couldn’t seem to grab her attention. She didn’t look up for the entirety of the lesson which, considering how enthusiastic she normally was about everything, didn’t make sense, especially when the bell rung and she walked off in tow with Helen and Lucy without even stopping to acknowledge him. Sebastian eventually found them at lunch huddled together in the pit, but he refrained from confronting Clara when he noticed Lucy was still there too; he’d never spoken to Lucy, but he knew she had three older brothers in the fifth year and so it wasn’t wise to get on the wrong side of her.

It wasn’t until the end of the day when Sebastian caught Clara by herself, stood to the side of the bus stop with her ticket clasped tightly in her palm. The first thing he noticed when he approached was that her hair wasn’t tied up in her signature pigtails, and her cheeks were blotched red as if she’d been crying. Sebastian was relieved that the rest of the bus stop was empty, apart from a few second years trying to strangle each other with their ties, and awkwardly he shuffled over to join his friend, who noticed him approach and immediately lowered her gaze.

“Hey.”

Clara didn’t respond initially, she just sniffed and kept her stare firmly cemented on the pavement. When his words failed to initiate any reply, Sebastian gingerly bit down on his bottom lip and looked over towards the timetable. They still had over ten minutes until the next bus.

“Why weren’t you at lunch today?”

“I needed advice with my homework, Helen and Lucy said they’d help me.”

Sebastian knew it was a lie, not only because Clara was one of the smartest people in their English class, but because only a couple of days ago she had complained that Lucy’s Scottish accent was too strong and got on her nerves. He decided not to challenge her about it though; instead he rummaged around in his pocket for his own ticket, before realising it must have fallen out at some point during the day and scowling to himself. He was so caught up in his own annoyance that he almost didn’t see Clara outstretch her hand towards him, where concealed in her palm were two pound coins, just enough to afford a spare ticket. Sebastian nodded gratefully and took them, just as he noticed the hesitant expression still wavering on her face.

“I spoke to your brother.”

The sudden declaration surprised Sebastian, whose face immediately crumpled with dismay. Clara wouldn’t have mentioned Jim if it wasn’t important, and judging by her reaction towards him that day whatever was said couldn’t have been good.

“He came to my house,” Clara reiterated, her voice slowly growing with confidence. “And told me everything you said about me.”

“What?” Sebastian’s outburst meant he didn’t have time to form a proper reaction, resulting in a mangled squeak escaping the back of his throat. The nearby second years overheard, and jeered momentarily at the noise before returning to what they were doing, which in that instance meant suffocating their friends on the edge of the road.

Unlike the second years however, Clara wasn’t smiling. She was trying her best not to make contact with Sebastian, as if he was some wild beast that needed to be avoided at all costs. And when she revealed just what Jim had told her, Sebastian’s whole heart plummeted from his chest. He’d seen Jim that same morning, and grinned at him mindlessly on the way to the bus stop; at the time he’d ignored the smug glimmer in Jim’s eyes, assuming he’d probably just scored full marks on his maths test again, only now Sebastian realised just how much he’d underestimated the smaller boy’s jealousy.

“You’re my mate, I wouldn’t say anything like that about you,” Sebastian tried to convince Clara, who had returned to her previously huddled away spot in the corner of the bus stop. “Jim gets jealous, he doesn’t like me having other friends.”

“But he’s your brother.”

“It’s complicated,” the blond admitted, fiddling restlessly with the two pound coins clamped between his thumb and forefinger.

“You must be close then,” Clara spoke softly. “Closer than me and Sammy at least. We just argue all the time, my aunt says it’s like living in a zoo.”

Sebastian smiled at the thought.

“So you didn’t say all of those things?” The girl asked again, turning her head to face him.

“Don’t be daft, course I didn’t.”

Clara nibbled the edge of her lip and nodded.

“Sorry, Seb.”

Sebastian had to admit he was relieved by the use of the nickname, and immediately following from Clara’s apology his mouth spread into a grin. He outstretched an arm and nudged the girl playfully in the ribs, to which she squealed at and swatted him in return.

“You’re forgiven.”

When the bus arrived they both boarded together, cramming themselves at the back before any of the older years got there first. Now that the tension was gone between them Sebastian felt a lot more comfortable, even when Clara’s hand accidentally brushed against his own as the bus set off down the road. He shivered initially at the touch but thought nothing of it; Clara was just a mate, that was all.

“Is St. Matthew’s as bad as everyone says it is?” The brunette girl, who was perched on the edge of her bed, asked curiously upon lowering her pencil.

“Not really,” answered Sebastian, flipping the page of his own homework book, deciding that twenty pages of Lord of the Flies was more than enough for the afternoon. “The teachers were nice and the school dinners weren’t half bad, just the other kids used to get on my nerves. I got suspended a couple of times too.”

“Come off it!” Clara gasped in amusement, before descending into a fit of laughter and getting a pillow thrown at her by Sebastian.

“Twice.”

“What for?!”

“Fighting, mostly. I used to lose control of my temper.”

Clara, who still hadn’t grasped the concept of Sebastian getting suspended, shook her head disbelievingly and giggled. Sebastian was smiling lazily too, sat politely at the end of the bed with his hands firmly planted against the mattress to support himself. He’d been invited to spend the afternoon at Clara’s house again; downstairs he could hear her brother, Sammy, shouting enthusiastically at the football match on the television, while outside the family dog kept scratching at the door in an attempt to get in. Sebastian loved dogs, even though he’d never owned one himself. He liked Clara’s dog especially, mainly because its thick white fur reminded him of a cloud or a sheep, and it was so tall that whenever it jumped up to greet him it practically engulfed him with all its fluffy hair and saliva. On the other hand he still hadn’t managed to befriend Sammy yet, but Clara had assured him that it was only because the seven-year-old was stubborn and didn’t like strangers, and so Sebastian tried not to take it personally.

Right now they were trying to finish their English homework, which in itself was proving to be extremely boring. Clara had poured them both a glass of orange juice from the carton in the kitchen, which Sebastian kept sipping at carefully in an attempt not to spill any of it, but despite their best efforts it seemed that gossiping was far more interesting than actually completing their English work for Mister Finchley’s lesson the next day.

“I bet an all-girl’s school was much worse,” Sebastian pointed out after closing the lid of his book and placing it to one side. He kept it balanced on the side of the bed, as if he might miraculously start working on it again in a few minutes, even though he already knew he had no willpower to sit and complete the rest of his homework.

He lowered his half-empty glass of orange juice, wiping the remains from his mouth using the back of his sleeve.

“It was awful,” Clara groaned over dramatically in agreement. “There were rules for everything, all of your uniform had to be perfect and you weren’t allowed to wear makeup. Kathy Atkinson in my class once came in wearing lipgloss and they made her take it all off at the gate. She started crying, apparently it was a present from her grandma.”

Sebastian looked down towards Clara’s brightly-coloured socks, understanding instantly why the uniform rules probably hadn’t appealed to her. So far she’d only been given one warning for wearing different-coloured socks by one of the desk-ladies, but none of the other teachers appeared to have noticed, either that or they couldn’t be bothered to give out a punishment.

“But do you still get angry?” The girl questioned thoughtfully, causing Sebastian to shrug.

“Not really, I guess,” he explained. “I try not to anymore, I mean. I don't want to get in any trouble.”

The scratching sound from outside, which had been growing louder by the second, all of a sudden seemed to erupt, as the bedroom door swung open to reveal the spotted white dog. It bounded towards them, its tail waggling furiously as it leapt onto the bed and buried both eleven-year-olds in a mountain of fur. Sebastian seemed to take more enjoyment out of the encounter than Clara, who had endured it probably a dozen or so times before, and as he resurfaced he tentatively tried to pet the dog on top of its head. Sebastian grinned wildly when it licked the palm of his hand, earning a slight snort from Clara.

“He’s got fleas, you know, you’ll get sick.”

“I don’t mind,” Sebastian mumbled quietly as he continued to run his fingers through the dog’s soft fur, smiling all the time. “I wish I had a dog.”

“As if.” The girl rolled her eyes, and attempted to move her English homework out of the way so that the dog didn’t drool all over it. “You can take him if you want. All he does is slobber and demand food.”

“I’m sure he’s not that bad.”

“Last month he dragged a dead bird in from the garden, it was disgusting.”

“Aw, you didn’t mean it, did you boy?”

“Don’t be gross, Seb.”

“I’m not!”

Sebastian resumed petting the animal, who had now made itself comfortable o top of his pile of work, occasionally scratching behind its ears or underneath its chin where it seemed to enjoy it the most. He’d always wanted a pet, but something more exciting than a hamster or goldfish. He wanted a dog, a big one like the type used to pull sleds across the snow, but the house wasn’t big enough and the garden was full of weeds.

Clara finished off her glass of juice and took off her blazer, hanging it on the back of her bed before returning once more. She cupped her hands against her chin and observed Sebastian thoughtfully, smiling when she noticed the white fur staining his school uniform.

“Does your mum mind you staying here?” She asked.

Sebastian looked up briefly, only to be distracted again when the dog licked his cheek.

“Not really.”

“I s’pose she works alot,” Clara agreed, thankfully not picking up on the blond’s lie. “I saw her leave the other day, from the house with all the nice flowers in the garden. Is that where you live?”

Sebastian didn’t have the heart to tell Clara it wasn’t really his house, so instead he nodded.

“You must be lucky then.”

“Something like that.”

“Are you staying for dinner?” Clara urged inquisitively. “We’re having vegetable curry.”

“Why vegetables?”

“My aunt’s on another health kick, something about not eating meat,” Clara shrugged, getting to her feet the same time as Sebastian.

“Can’t, sorry,” he explained, prizing his slightly-mangled homework out from under where the dog was sitting, and shoving it into his backpack.

“But you’ll be on the bus tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Course, I still need to copy your German homework.”

“Miss Dahrendorf will kill you if you don’t do it again, y’know,” Clara huffed, causing Sebastian to grin as he tugged his backpack over his shoulders.

“I know, that’s why it’s a good thing I’ve got you.”


	28. The Cadet Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian is persuaded to test his strength.

“Cadets?”

“They’re looking for new members, my aunt said she’d drive us both there to try out.”

The first mention of cadets came during a particularly-rainy maths lesson in October, one month into Sebastian’s first term at St. Cecelia’s. Their usual maths teacher was on maternity leave, and so a slow, doddery old man had taken her place, one who smelt of cough medication and was taking an excessively-long amount of time to write down the instructions on the board. Sebastian, alike the rest of the class, had been trying to copy down the work when he heard a sharp hiss in his ear, and realised it was Clara trying to communicate with him from the other side of the table. They had to whisper or they both risked getting caught and handed detentions, and Sebastian wasn’t willing to ruin his clean-streak just yet.

“Are you sure they’d let us in?”

“There’s no harm in trying.” Sebastian could tell Clara was excited, because whenever she had her mind set on something she always wore a triumphant grin across her face, and struggled to stop her ebony pigtails from bouncing erratically around her head like helicopter propellers. “We’d get to wear proper uniforms, and they’d teach us how to fire real guns.”

“But I’ve never fired a gun before,” Sebastian whispered gingerly, which was technically true. The closest he’d ever come to it was when Jim had let him test out his toy dart gun the previous Summer, but even the sticky darts were cheap and had broken after only a few goes. 

“Doesn’t matter.” The girl shrugged. “If we got in we’d learn all of it, like actual soldiers. You’re always telling me you want to be a soldier.”

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow morning, meet me outside at nine and my aunt will take us there.”

_“Would you two at the back care to share your conversation with the rest of the class?”_

The sudden declaration from the supply teacher surprised Sebastian, who had almost completely forgotten that they were still in the middle of a lesson. After turning his attention back towards the whiteboard and grumbling a disgruntled ‘ _sorry, sir_ ’ under his breath he clenched his jaw shut, attempting to suppress a smile when he spotted that Clara was similarly trying not to laugh. He opened his pencil case and began to scribble down a few initial notes, this time without talking, even if his mind was far from the realms of fractions and decimals. Since his disgraced departure from the rugby team Sebastian hadn’t taken part in any other extra activities, but joining the cadets was nothing like an ordinary after-school club. If Clara was right then he’d get to wear a real uniform, and learn how to handle guns and master different drills - that would certainly impress Jim. For the rest of the lesson the eleven-year-old’s mind remained consumed with all the information he’d been told; he’d paid hardly any attention to the questions he was supposed to answering, and was the first to his feet when the bell rung signalling for their next lesson, which in his case was two tediously-long hours of drama. As per usual Clara accompanied him, who it seemed also hadn’t forgotten about the prospect of joining the army cadets.

Sebastian grinned all the way to his drama classroom, trying to envision himself marching down the corridor while the adoring crowd around him all stopped to salute and cheer.

“Even if I don’t get in you definitely will,” commented Clara, who was forced to quicken her stride in order to keep up with Sebastian’s fast pace walking.

“How come?”

“Because you’re one of the tallest boys in the year, and if you really used to get into fights all the time then surely that must mean you’re super strong.”

Clara’s aunt was called Susan, but out of politeness Sebastian decided to call her Mrs Dockerty.

She drove a green Volkswagen Passat, and spoke in such a strong Southern accent that even Sebastian struggled to understand what she was saying some of the time. She was stricter and less high-spirited than Clara, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Although he was slightly intimidated by her, Sebastian thanked Mrs Dockerty for the lift as he sat squashed in the back of the little green car, next to Clara whose initial excitement had been swapped for nervousness. Throughout the journey to the cadet base she occupied herself by toying with the strings on her jacket collar, and shuffling her trainers warily against the pristinely-cleaned floor. Sebastian didn’t have a jacket, so he spent the majority of the journey with his stare glued to the window, observing the passing cars and buses while his stomach bubbled with apprehension. He didn’t know any cadets, and so he had no idea what to expect when they arrived. He was almost scared that they would be greeted by some bulky, menacing drill sergeant, and be forced to complete fifty push-ups on the spot if he so much as breathed at the wrong time.

The base itself was a large, brown-brick building, filled from top to bottom with a long stretch of windows and archways. It sat connected by a gravel pathway, one which the little Volkswagen car slowly rumbled across as they reached their destination, causing Sebastian’s heart rate to spike as it thumped rapidly in his chest. Surrounding the building were countless acres of field, which in the early morning light were still covered with a faint blanket of frost. They weren’t the only hopeful candidates there, as Sebastian discovered when he looked out of the window to see the sea of other cars lining the car park, surrounding which were other schoolchildren and their parents, all looking just as worried as he felt. Mrs Dockerty chose to stay inside of the car, leaving Clara and Sebastian to step out by themselves, and follow the stream of fellow children in the direction the signposts were pointing them towards. Despite attempting to block it out Sebastian could overhear some of the surrounding chatter; some of it came from embarrassed candidates furiously trying to usher their clingy parents away, while others involved heated debates as to who was most likely to come out on top.

Clara it seemed was the only girl there, not that she seemed fazed by the revelation. She wore it like a badge of honour, and took the opportunity to walk with a noticeable stride in her step while Sebastian trudged anxiously along the grass pathway beside her. He couldn’t help but notice how prepared many of the other applicants seemed to be, and as they gathered around a spot on the icy field he spotted a number of personalised sports kits and training gear with initials embroidered into the fabric. He himself had only arrived in a grubby hoodie and trainers, unsure what else to bring with him. Now he was there Sebastian felt slightly out of place surrounded by other people who clearly had more experience than him, but upon seeing Clara’s discreet smile of encouragement from the corner of his eye he took a deep breath and reminded himself that he could do it. The majority of other boys were older than him, judging by their broken voices and lanky postures, as well a couple whose only reason for being there was probably because their pushy parents had forced them to be.

When a tall man approached in uniform Sebastian assumed it must be an officer, and instinctively straightened his back and puffed out his chest. The playful mood of the morning had gone, replaced by a joint silence which trickled eerily over the grassy fields. Though his eyes were fixed on the officer, Sebastian could sense Clara was still stood beside him, and like him had snapped herself into an upright position, ready for whatever was about to happen. The officer couldn’t have been anywhere over the age of thirty, but the scars on his face made him look a lot older than he actually was. As he began to talk Sebastian couldn’t help but stare, even though he knew it was bad manners. The scars stretched across the officer’s face in long, thick lines, cutting across his bottom lip and the top of his cheek and eyebrow. They were white, not red, which Sebastian took to mean they must have been old, but not old enough to be completely hidden. The eleven-year-old knew he wasn’t the only one who had taken an interest in the man’s facial disfigurations; around him he could see a handful of nervous eye-shifts and glances from the other candidates, all of whom were trying to be as subtle as possible so they didn’t get caught. It made Sebastian wonder how the officer had acquired his scars - from a war, obviously, but how?

The morning was cold, wet, but thoroughly exhilarating, concluded Sebastian as he trudged back to Mrs Dockerty’s car with his brand new cadet uniform balanced carefully in his arms. Stacked in a tall pile were his trousers and jacket, folded neatly in a blur of camouflage, accompanied by his new black beret and a pair of polished boots. Clara too was carrying her own stash of equipment, which was equally just as large as Sebastian’s; she had also been accepted, but being the only girl there meant she’d been allocated a boy’s uniform, which practically swamped her smaller frame. In-fact almost everyone had gotten a place, leaving some happier than others. On the way back towards the car park there was a triumphant buzz in the air, one reflected in the wide grin etched across Sebastian’s lips.

Mrs Dockerty had been reading a magazine while waiting for both eleven-year-olds to return, which she quickly discarded when the car doors opened and Clara and Sebastian clambered into the backseat, attempting not to spill their new uniforms. She quirked an eyebrow, observing them both in the rear-view mirror.

“I take it I’ll be the one giving you lifts here and back every week?” The woman asked, starting the engine of the old Volkswagen.

“Is your mother okay with that, Sebastian?”

“Seb’s already told his mum,” Clara assured her aunt brightly, earning a satisfied ‘hm’ from the woman in the driver’s seat.

Sebastian smiled tiredly in the backseat, looking down to the pile of clothes balanced on his lap. After a morning of tug-of-war, running, and marching he was feeling especially worn out, but proud knowingthat he was one step closer to actually becoming a soldier, even if right now he was only just a cadet.

In the secrecy of his own bedroom that evening, he tried on his uniform for the first time.

It was heavier than Sebastian had anticipated, weighed down by the large boots and padded jacket. The beret was a good fit, but caused his ears to stick out at the side as if they were much larger than they actually were. He tried covering them up but with no success, and in the end he gave up and turned his efforts to fastening his trouser belt. Sebastian poised himself at the top of the staircase once he was finished making amendments, eager to show off to his father when he returned home from his newest temporary job. When the door-lock rattled, the eleven-year-old excitedly raced downstairs to greet him, and stood proudly with his back arched while waiting for his father, whose job it now was to sell washing machines, to acknowledge him. At first it was almost as if his father didn’t recognise him - which Sebastian blamed on his beret and pointy ears; when he did eventually register who the cadet uniform belonged to, the old man erupted into an enormous grin, and engulfed Sebastian in a hug before he even had time to react. The hug was tight and uncomfortable, but even Sebastian had to admit that the pat on the back was nice, as was his father whispering in his ear how grown up he looked.

The next person Sebastian revealed his uniform to was Jim, whose reaction failed to share Sebastian’s same enthusiasm. Jim’s response was far more critical, as he sat on the end of Sebastian’s bed with his eyes narrowed, which the eleven-year-old put down to the fact that both of his foster parents had gone to a mathematics conference that evening without him and he was sulking because of it.

“March back and forth again, I want to watch. Like how the soldiers do it in the war films.”

Jim’s chin was rested on top of his hands, as he admired Sebastian marching back and forth across his bedroom floor for the fifth time that evening. Although it was tiring Sebastian didn’t complain; he enjoyed showing off for Jim, who despite his grumpiness seemed extremely interested in the blond’s new cadet uniform. It was almost entirely camouflage-pattered, with the exception of his boots and beret, which Jim had been adamant that he wanted to try on. The beret had been too big for his tiny head, but endearing to watch nevertheless, especially when Jim had accidentally put it on back-to-front.

Sebastian marched a total of fourteen times up and down his bedroom floor until Jim finally decided he was satisfied, and beckoned for the worn-out eleven-year-old to join him on his bed. He removed the hat so it didn’t get ruined, placing it ever so carefully on his bedside table, before perching precariously on the edge of his mattress so that he didn’t accidentally crease his uniform. Jim shuffled over beside him, running his pale fingers cautiously along the edge of Sebastian’s jacket, tracing the different blotches of green and brown. Sebastian would have irritably shooed away anybody else who tried to touch his uniform, but with Jim he allowed it.

“Does this mean you’re abandoning me again?”

“It’s only on Saturday mornings,” Sebastian explained, tensing momentarily when he felt Jim’s hand brush against his chest, but Jim quickly moved his attention to other parts of his body.

“What about all the things you told me about in your book?” The smaller boy questioned.

He pointed to the end of Sebastian’s bed, where there sat a large information manual with a green front cover. Everybody had been given a copy before they left, including himself and Clara, with a list of rules they had to obey and activities they should prepare themselves for. He’d been most interested in the section about shooting, which had been in the back of the manual, but it seemed he wouldn’t be allowed to shoot anything until he proved that he knew all of the safety procedures first.

“Those too, but my first expedition isn’t ’til next Spring,” Sebastian yawned, raising a hand to rub his eyes. The day had been long, and he still had a mountain of homework to catch up on. “Clara reckons they’re going to take us to the countryside for a few days. I don’t mind the mud, neither does she, I just hope we get to stay in the same tent together. I don’t know any of the other boys, they all look older than me.”

“Oh.” Jim’s tone dried almost immediately. “I didn’t realise _she_ was going too.”

Upon learning that his masterplan to ruin their friendship had failed, Jim had grown increasingly hostile toward Clara, which he liked to make evident whenever Sebastian so much as mentioned her name. He called her names, sometimes ones with swear words in, and had even spat at her doorstep upon walking past her house on the way to school. Jim’s jealousy was beginning to worry Sebastian, who was still caught in the lie that Jim was his baby brother; to Clara and her family’s knowledge he had a mother, a father, and a little brother, something he was determined to keep a secret. Even Jim didn’t know about the vast lie he’d told - and Sebastian couldn’t let him ruin the pretence just yet.

“You’d like her if you actually got to know her,” the blond spoke defensively, rolling his eyes for what must have been the one hundredth time he’d tried explaining it to Jim. “She’s funny, and really good at English too. She wrote a poem about our English teacher and got it displayed in the corridor.”

Jim blew a raspberry with his tongue, which signalled instantly for Sebastian to stop talking.

The eleven-year-old complied, and furrowed his brow as he turned to face his younger counterpart.

“They’re going to teach me how to fire a gun, the officer said so today and it’s on page twenty of my manual,” he changed the subject, in an effort to distract Jim from thinking about Clara.

It must have worked, as all of a sudden Jim’s head shot upright, and his dark, ebony eyes fixed on Sebastian with significant curiosity. His lips twitched with interest, and his entire mood seemed to change to one of delight, like Sebastian had only ever seen before when the subject was either maths or something remotely scientific.

“A real gun?” Jim demanded.

“A rifle, I think,” Sebastian agreed. “It’s part of our expedition, we get to assemble them and test them out. Not on real people obviously.”

He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it, but Sebastian’s excitement practically bubbled in the back of his throat as he described it. He’d never so much as held a real gun before, so to hold a rifle and fire it was exhilarating in itself. He’d had a feeling that Jim would enjoy hearing about it too; Jim always liked it when he did something courageous, and this just about topped the list of heroic things.

“Will you show me when you learn how to shoot?” The raven-haired boy persisted again, causing Sebastian to tentatively nibble his lip.

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to bring a rifle home with me.”

“I can fix that,” Jim interjected, seemingly confidently.

“Get a gun?” Sebastian challenged.

“I can do it,” he reiterated. “Then will you show me?”

Sebastian, although sceptical, obediently nodded his head, and earned a pleased beam from Jim who proceeded to swoop forward and kiss him on the top of the forehead.

“What do I have to call you now?” He asked, to which Sebastian frowned at in confusion.

“What d’you mean?”  
  
“Isn’t there a special name when you’re a soldier?” Jim continued. “Like a captain or a colonel?”

“It’s still just Sebastian,” the taller boy mumbled modestly, looking down towards his camouflaged uniform as his new role finally began to sink in.

He was so busy examining the pattern of his uniform that he didn’t notice Jim, who was observing him from across the bed with a coy smile curled across his lips. Jim’s smile matched his eyes, which were wide and glimmering with pleasure, not to mention how in-awe of Sebastian he seemed to be as he sat there as a newly-accepted cadet.

“That’s good,” he decided firmly, after a minute or so of revelling in Sebastian’s accomplishment. “Because I like normal Sebastian the best.”


	29. Kirstie, Brian, And A Broken Walkman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Sebastian is away, Jim is presented with a surprise announcement.

Jim wasn’t jealous of Sebastian, even as he sat alone in the doctor’s waiting room clutching to his newest copy of ‘ _Science Weekly_ ’ while the stupid baby on the other side of the room wouldn’t stop crying. 

There were many reasons not to be jealous of Sebastian Moran; for one Sebastian didn’t know anything about nuclear physics, which Jim did, and secondly, even though he was tall and strong, Jim was far cleverer than him, all you had to do was compare the results of their maths work. In the last test he’d taken Jim had scored ninety eight out of one hundred; it would have been one hundred, but after rushing through his paper he’d made a blunder on one of his multiplication calculations and, extremely unfairly in his opinion, had been deducted two marks. Jim didn’t like getting the answers of things wrong. Usually it was obvious when he had; he would sulk all day in the confines of his bedroom, or shout and shriek whenever anybody asked him what the matter was.

So far he was proving to be the smartest boy in his year; he had already completed his maths and science exams a year early, and so he was fast on track to moving up to secondary school with Sebastian the following September. His foster parents, even though they were now close to retiring, still brought home university textbooks with them for him to read, and for his eleventh birthday he’d been gifted a magazine subscription to ‘ _Science Weekly_ ’. Sebastian had also gotten him a present, a brand new cassette tape for his Walkman, the headphones of which were currently glued to his ears in an attempt to block out the incessant cries and wails of the baby across the room.

It was another one of his regular doctor’s appointments, with the waiting room that smelt of cheap plastic toys and baby milk. For the first time Kirstie had allowed him to travel there by himself, despite having spent the whole of breakfast worrying that he might get lost. To reassure herself, she had handed Jim a small paper map shortly before leaving, which now sat stuffed in an uncomfortable lump in his trouser pocket. He didn’t need a map, but he’d taken it anyway just to stop her from complaining. In-fact he’d arrived exactly at eleven o’clock, the slot of his appointment, and been told to wait on one of the shiny blue chairs until the doctor came to collect him. The time now was five past eleven, and to Jim’s annoyance still no doctor had arrived.

His Walkman had been playing a repeat of the same song over and over again; it was the same tape Sebastian had given him, coincidentally the one Jim had forgotten to change before departing that morning. It wasn’t his usual type of music, it was Sebastian’s music, which explained the heavy drumbeat and the screeching electric guitar. Apparently it was rock and roll, as the the blond had proudly described it when he’d handed over the clumsily-wrapped present on the morning of Jim’s eleventh birthday, with the words ‘ _happy birthday, Jim_ ’ scrawled in his neatest handwriting on the tape label. Even though it wasn’t like the other music he owned, Jim still liked it; it reminded him of Sebastian after all, even while he was at his appointment and Sebastian was at cadets.

Jim was so lost in his music that he didn’t hear his name being called out from the reception desk, or see the doctor in the threaded cardigan and amber scarf approach him. He looked up only upon feeling two gentle taps to his shoulder, and removed the headphones to discover Doctor Allison awaiting him with a firm, probably artificial, smile.

“Good morning, James.”

“It’s Jim.”

He could see her glancing discreetly down to the clipboard in her hands, as if to see if this was true, before quickly lowering it and returning her gaze with a flustered smile.

“My apologies, Jim.” The smile seemed glued to her lips, which in itself must have been painful. “Why don’t you put your headphones away and come with me?”

Considering the doctor was ten minutes late, Jim was sceptical about doing what she said, but reluctantly he slid his Walkman into his back-pocket and lowered his headphones around his neck before traipsing after her as she led him towards her office. The furtherer away they got from the waiting room the quieter the baby’s cries grew, until finally when the white door closed behind them the noise was completely drowned out. Instead it was replaced by Doctor Allison’s incoherent mumbles as she foraged around for her paperwork in one of the cabinets, opening and closing the many drawers before locating what she’d been looking for. She returned to the table promptly and beckoned for Jim to sit, which he did after hopefully eyeing up the jar of biscuits sat beside the computer.

The doctor flipped through the pages of her notes, coming to a stop when she caught sight of Jim’s name printed in black ink.  
  
“How are you feeling today?”

When there came no reply she looked up, only to see Jim’s wide stare still fixated upon the biscuit jar. The doctor outstretched a slender hand, and slowly nudged it towards him.

“Bored,” Jim replied eventually, only after picking up a cream biscuit and nibbling at the edge.

“And why is that?” Asked the woman.

“Because Sebastian’s at cadets with stupid Clara and there’s nothing to do.”

Jim took a second, rather aggressive bite from his biscuit.

Doctor Allison observed him thought, her hazel eyes glancing tentatively down towards the set of notes on her desk before she cleared her throat.

“How is your medication? Are you still taking it?”

The raven-haired boy knew the doctor was only asking because she’d found out through his foster parents that he’d disposed of his previous pills down the toilet. Admittedly it was through a fault of his own, forgetting to flush the toilet after he’d poured them all into the basin; when Kirstie had gone for her nightly bath she’d discovered them, and after a heated lecture that same evening she’d been straight on the phone to the doctor’s surgery the following morning to ask for an urgent appointment. Jim still hadn’t entirely forgiven his foster mother for being a snitch, but he had a feeling that the science magazine subscription was her idea of a peace offering, and so he couldn’t be too angry.

“One every day,” he responded, somewhat bitterly, smearing the back of his hand against his mouth to clear away the remaining crumbs. 

“That’s excellent news.”

Jim didn’t think it was, but he watched regardless as Doctor Allison retrieved a pen from the pot on her desk, and proceeded to scribble down something in heavy cursive which he couldn’t quite read. She tapped her pen momentarily against the oak table, the sound of which caused Jim to squirm uncomfortably in his seat, until finally she opened one of the drawers to reveal another piece of paper, this time one that Jim recognised. It was a picture, more specifically a drawing, depicting two people stood to the side of one another. It was easily Jim’s drawing style because neither of the figures were proportionate to each other, and the majority of their features had all been drawn wrong. Doctor Allison looked fondly at the drawing for a moment before sliding it across the table towards Jim, who had snuck another cream biscuit into his mouth when she hadn’t been looking.

“Do you remember drawing this for me, Ja- Jim?” She asked curiously. “The first time we met. I asked you to draw a picture of your life.”

The doctor then leant over the desk, using the black pen in her hand to point at the drawing, which Jim watched intently.

“I never asked, who’s the person on the left?”

“That’s Sebastian.”

“Ah.” Doctor Allison took her seat again, her brow lifting. “Your friend Sebastian?”

“My _best_ friend,” Jim corrected her sternly, to which the woman smiled apologetically at. “He knows he is, he always has been.”

“And…”

The doctor’s lips twitched in anticipation.

“…I notice you haven’t drawn your parents, or your house.”

Jim, still halfway through devouring his second biscuit, couldn’t seem to understand the surprise in her tone, and looked up only to glare at her inquisitively, as if she was talking complete nonsense.

“I don’t have either of those,” he corrected her.

“But I spoke to your mother on the phone last week-"

“She’s not my mother,” he spoke bluntly, catching Doctor Allison off guard with his maturity. “She only looks after me because the government pay her to do it. She can’t have babies of her own, if she could then she wouldn’t have me. And it isn’t my house, it’s Kirstie and Brian’s, when I get too old I have to leave.”

Normally, Doctor Allison thought to herself, it was easy to talk to the children who came into her office; the room was filled with toys and picture books, and when she spoke in a slow, gentle voice they all seemed to understand her. She’d met dozens of children from broken homes during her time as doctor, from the ones who cried and wouldn’t come out from underneath the table when she tried to talk to them, to the ones who got so angry they’d punched holes in the wall. But Jim Moriarty didn’t fit either of those two categories; he was sat politely with his legs crossed, his ebony eyes wide and attentive, and she noticed how whenever she spoke he seemed to observe her, as if he was mentally constructing a profile of her in his head. On a few occasions she saw how his gaze shifted towards the wedding ring on her finger, and she quickly wrapped her hand in the fabric of her cardigan to hide it.

“You’re a clever boy, Jim.”

“I know,” he agreed. “I’m the smartest boy in school. The headmaster called me into his office to tell me.”

The doctor smiled, and took the drawing away from Jim before slotting it back into the drawer.

“Does it ever make you feel lonely?” She hesitated before she spoke, closing the drawer and looking back towards the boy.

“Why would it?”

Doctor Allison realised immediately that she’d made a mistake by asking, and tried to redeem herself by widening the smile on her lips, which in-turn only made her cheeks ache uncomfortably.

“You told me your friend Sebastian goes to a different school now. Don’t you miss him?”

She’d expected a reaction instantly, or for Jim to fly into a fierce fit of rage, but when she saw him sat silently in his chair she immediately felt a wave of guilt for what she’d said. It was only when she stood up to console him that Jim eventually answered, and as he looked up she spotted the red fingernail marks on his wrist from where he’d been squeezing it so tightly.

“No,” Jim mumbled in a small voice, avoiding her gaze. “I still see him everyday, he comes round for tea, and when I move up to secondary school I’ll get to be with him again.”

Doctor Allison merely nodded, feeling a weight lifting from her shoulders despite her guilty conscience. She could sense Jim was becoming tense, like he usually did whenever an appointment lasted for too long, so she reached into her cabinet and retrieved a bottle of pills, passing them across the table.

“I’m going to keep you on your normal blue antidepressants, the same dosage, one every morning with your breakfast,” she explained, as Jim clasped the bottle in his pale hands and studied it thoughtfully. “And if you have any issues you know where to find me, I’m only a telephone call away.“

“Am I still depressed?”

Silence followed, and then a sigh.

“Yes, Jim,” she apologised softly. “For now… at least. But these feelings won’t last forever, you won’t have to take the medication anymore one day.”

It was snowing when Jim left the doctor’s office that morning, munching on the third biscuit he’d stolen from the jar on his way out. Each time he took a step forward the bottle of pills rattled in his pocket, _one, two, three_ , but he was so engrossed in the music from his headphones that he hadn’t heard. The crying baby from earlier was gone, and in its place sat another boy around his age, laughing and chatting away to his father about racing cars. He and Jim made eye contact momentarily, but within a split second Jim had already exited through the glass office doors, and was traipsing his way through the thin layer of snow which had settled upon the ground outside.

It wasn’t enough snow to build a snowman out of, which made it more of a nuisance than fun. Jim supposed if he scraped enough snow together it might resemble a snowball, and after moulding a big ball of snow into a circle in his hands he fired it at the road, and watched as it shattered into the lamppost before disintegrating. He usually left doctor’s appointments feeling agitated, and with a stomach full of biscuits, which today was accompanied by the constant sniffling caused by the cold weather. Jim wondered if Sebastian might have frozen to death without him knowing; he’d been gone since the morning, which Jim only knew because he’d seen the older boy disappear off to Saint Mark’s Lane in his cadet uniform from his bedroom window, most likely to meet the girl-who-must-not-be-named. According to Sebastian he liked cadets, not that Jim understood why anybody would take enjoyment from marching up and down a muddy field while being shouted orders at by angry old men. Yet somehow Sebastian seemed to thrive from it; he’d already been asked to participate in his first camping trip - a weekend spent sleeping in a flimsy tent in the countryside - not that Jim was interested, he only cared about Sebastian’s promise to fire a gun for him.

Jim noticed as he approached Grosvenor Street that the music from his Walkman was beginning to cut out in places, meaning every so often the beat of drums and electric guitar would abruptly stop, before suddenly picking up again as if nothing had happened. With the palm of his hand he tried hitting the plastic covering to get it to work, before realising that the reel inside of the tape must have gotten jammed. He halted on the corner of the street and removed his headphones, retrieving a chewed pencil from his pocket and twisting it through the hole of the cassette tape. After twisting the pencil at least a dozen times he threw the Walkman to the ground, and stamped on it for good measure. When he heard Kirstie’s calls from the garden gate Jim reluctantly picked up his battered Walkman from the bed of snow, and made his way across the road to where the old woman was awaiting him.

“My Walkman’s broken,” he complained as he entered the house, where the components for that afternoon’s Sunday roast were already bubbling on the stove.

They were having pork chops, not beef, because Kirstie had found them half-price at the market while shopping for groceries. Everything was cheaper nowadays; with their retirements coming Kirstie and Brian had planned to rent a cottage in Portmarnock, which they’d already agreed to bring Jim along to during the Summer holidays, but since the rent was expensive they’d had to cut down on most other things in order to afford it, even including Jim’s extensive book collection.

Kirstie had entered the kitchen not long before the raven-haired boy, and was humming the tune to a song she’d heard on the radio a week prior. Her gravy-stained apron was tied around her waist, while her hand kept moving instinctively to her face to brush away the endless amount of grey curls which kept falling over her eyes. Jim thought her hair looked very grey now, the same shade as the old ladies he sometimes saw with their walking canes waiting for the bus, but he didn’t dare tell her because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. When Kirstie noticed him she smiled, until she spotted the mangled Walkman clasped in his hands.

“Bring it here,” she instructed softly, placing down the spoon she’d been using to stir the peas and carrots with to hold out her hand.

Jim did as he was told, and perched on top of the kitchen and counter while Kirstie inspected the cassette tape. Brian joined them not long afterwards, commenting something under his breath about how wonderful the food smelt and pressing a swift kiss to his wife’s cheek on his way to the table. Jim noticed how Kirstie smiled at the comment, and how her cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of red when Brian was no longer looking; he wondered how it must feel to be married, to dedicate your whole life to only one person. Kirstie and Brian never argued, only about trivial matters like who was better at maths, but even then their playful bickering usually ended with a flood of laughter. Each morning Jim could hear them joking in the kitchen, and since Brian’s newly-diagnosed heart condition Kirstie had started ironing his clothes for him, and making him cups of tea when he was in bed. It was a kind of fairytale love, and if they weren’t his foster parents maybe it would have made Jim feel sick.

“You were twisting it in the wrong direction, see? Good as new.” As the older woman returned his Walkman Jim eagerly grabbed for it, however in the process of reaching for his headphones to plug them in he was stopped abruptly by Kirstie, who placed a tentative hand on his wrist to hold him back.

“No headphones at the dinner table, Einstein.”

“But-"

“We’ve got something important to discuss today,” Brian chipped in from across the room, wearing a knowing smile.

Both adults were smiling, or at least trying to hide their excitement, leaving Jim with an increasingly-suspicious glare as he deposited his headphones on the countertop and joined Brian curiously at the table.

When Jim’s own plate was set in-front of him he’d been intently staring at the snow from the window, and it wasn’t until the smell of roasted potatoes and pork-chops filled his nostrils that he reluctantly tore his gaze away and observed the mountain of food before him. He’d never seen such a generous amount before, so whatever news it was must have been important, not to mention the tray of apple crumble in the fridge which only reinforced his suspicions. After dishing up each plateful Kirstie came to sit down, still dressed in her apron, and as she picked up her knife and fork Jim noted how strangely secretive she was being, instead of her normal, bubbly self. Brian initiated the conversation by asking Jim about his doctor’s appointment that morning, which the elven-year-old answered whilst nibbling carefully at a small forkful of food.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” The Englishman prompted when Jim told him about the bottle of pills.

Lunch was followed by dessert, which Kirstie retrieved from the fridge alongside a tub of ice cream she’d found at the bottom of the freezer. Jim was the only person who hadn’t finished his food, or even made a sizeable dent in it; for the most part his plate was still full when Kirstie came to collect it, aside from a few potatoes which he’d nibbled cautiously around the edges of. Normally she would have ordered him to finish his meal before being allowed any dessert, but to Jim’s surprise she didn’t make a comment, and disappeared to the other side of the kitchen to scrape the leftover food into the bin.

Apple crumble was one of Jim’s favourite desserts; he didn’t like it as much as chocolate, or the sweets they sold in the corner shop, but Kirstie always made it to perfection, which was unusual considering all of the other things she baked ended a lot of the time in disaster. His crumble was accompanied by a large scoop of ice cream, which he had already began to devour by the time Kirstie finished handing out the rest of the bowls. With his spoon Jim dug a large portion of his dessert, pressing it to his lips so that he could savour the sweet, sugary taste against his tongue. Around him the conversation had turned to one of retirement and farewell parties, until it was Kirstie whose voice trailed off as she lowered the spoon in her hand. The raven-haired boy could feel her warm gaze burning into the back of his head, so after demolishing his own bowl of ice cream he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up, staring skeptically back at her. Her whole face was illuminated, like a jolly, red tomato.

“Jim,” she began tentatively. “You know how you’ve been with us for a long time now?”

“Four years and eleven months,” Jim agreed without missing a beat.

“That’s right, almost five years now.” Kirstie smiled, and for the first time Jim noticed how her gaze kept flickering briefly to Brian, who was smiling equally just as much next to her.

The pair of them looked like they had the potential to explode at any given moment, with nervous grins and discreet glances which bounced back and forth between each other. Jim wondered if maybe they were about to announce that they were getting a divorce, but neither of his foster parents looked particularly sad if that was the case.

“Well, we have something to tell you.”

The pause between sentences felt like an eternity, until Brian’s crisp English accent broke the silence.

“Kirstie and I have grown to like you a lot, Jim,” he spoke with an odd softness to his voice, devoid of all its usual humour. “You were six when we first met, I remember because you already knew half of the periodic table, and you were so eager to show us.”

“I know all of the periodic table now, and each equation,” the raven-haired boy pointed out firmly, earning a feeble chuckle from across the table.

Brian could tell Jim was growing apprehensive, so after looking momentarily at Kirstie for confirmation he tentatively continued:

“We’d like you to become a member of this family, Jim. A _permanent_ member.”

“Would that make me a Brook too?”

And in the pale light of the afternoon the Englishman smiled and nodded his head, and all of a sudden Jim realised what exactly the words meant. They were an invitation.

“It means you’ll be a Brook from now on, yes.”


	30. Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a camping trip with the cadets, Sebastian is forced to grow up, only to discover that growing up has unwanted side effects.

The car park was bursting with excited chatter on the morning of Sebastian’s first cadet camp, as each parent proudly waved their child off into the minibus as they prepared to depart for a long weekend in the countryside.

Sebastian had been the last to venture onto the bus, dragging his rucksack begrudgingly along by his feet as he scanned the crowded aisle for a place to sit. From the window stood his father, his arm wrapped around the waist of his new girlfriend Natalie as she stood by his side, both waving with smiles upon their faces. Natalie had been the one to offer him a lift, which Sebastian was hesitant to accept considering he still didn’t know her very well; when he’d arrived downstairs that morning she was already in the kitchen, dressed in nothing but a frilly bra and underwear, as well as an old dressing gown of his fathers which she’d tied around her waist. Sebastian assumed she must have stayed the night because her cheeks were still bright red, and when his father entered they’d both smiled coyly at one-another as if they were hiding some big secret. They’d travelled to the cadet base in Natalie’s car, mostly in awkward silence from where Sebastian felt too nervous to say anything. After climbing out of the backseat he’d received a short hug from Natalie, whose clothes smelt of mint air freshener, as well as one from his father, who’d asked incessantly whether he’d packed everything he needed to. It took longer than Sebastian would have liked to wriggle out of his father’s embrace, but within seconds of the bus engine starting the two adults and all the other parents had already vanished from sight, replaced instead by an empty view as they began their journey towards the campsite.

Sebastian found himself squeezed in the back of the minibus with two other boys from his regiment - Charlie, who he’d come to know well over the past weeks, and Norman, who Sebastian recognised from his German class at school. Clara must have arrived before him, as she was sat at the front next to a boy he didn’t know the name of, her face pressed longingly against the window as they passed through a shrouded thicket of trees. He secretly wished they could have sat together instead, not that Charlie and Norman were boring, but because all they talked about was football and Charlie’s supposedly-attractive older sister. Luckily, when the minibus parked at the side of the road for a toilet stop Sebastian was able to catch up with Clara, who it seemed was already waiting for him eagerly outside of the bus, her dark pigtails hidden underneath her oversized beret.

“I was worried you weren’t coming,” she admitted accusingly, which Sebastian only realised was a joke when he caught her grinning.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he smiled in response, stepping down from the metal ladder to join her on the roadside, next to a small patch of grass and mud.

“You should’ve seen my aunt this morning,” Clara continued once they were finally alone together, leant against a wooden fence which must once have belonged to a field of cows or sheep. “We had to pick my little brother up from swimming club… we were in such a rush she thought we were going to be late, I ended up being the first one here.”

She laughed her usual laugh, and Sebastian smiled as he tried to picture the thought.

“Who d’you think we’ll be sleeping with?”

“I already saw the tent arrangements, the Major let me look before everybody else arrived.”

“And?” Sebastian insisted.

“Me and you are paired together, we’re sharing a tent with those boys you’re sat with.”

“Charlie and Norman?”

“It’s not so bad, we’ll be hiking most of the time anyway,” Clara hummed with an apparent calmness, even a tiny hint of excitement. “Just as long as you don’t snore or wet the bed.”

“I don’t,” Sebastian retorted adamantly.

But Clara had already descended into another fit of tiny giggles which caused his ears to turn a furious shade of amber, and he realised it was just another one of her teasing jokes.

Sebastian took a brief piss in one of the tucked-away bushes before reentering the bus, resuming his previous seat next to Charlie and Norman. The rest of the journey was spent watching Charlie performing magic tricks from the pack of cards he’d retrieved from his rucksack, and speculating as to what type of meals they’d eat while they were there. Sebastian was relieved to find he wasn’t the only boy who had smuggled food into his rucksack; crammed right at the very bottom of his bag was a packet of fizzy cola bottles for that night, which he planned on hiding from the prying eyes of the Major. Charlie also had a bar of chocolate, which he’d snapped into three parts and divided between himself, Norman, and Sebastian, for them to all eat secretly at the back of the bus without anybody seeing.

It was quarter past five when they eventually arrived. Sebastian only knew because he’d seen the time on Norman’s wristwatch, a present from his grandad which he kept fastened around his left wrist in pristine condition. Since it was almost dark they had to build their tents quickly, which with Clara’s sharp logic ultimately didn’t take that long at all. After dinner, consisting of mince and beans piled inside a tiny metal tin, Sebastian found himself crammed inside of his designated tent with his three new campmates, all cross-legged and perched upon their own sleeping bags. It was only a small tent, which meant they were practically bunched together like sardines; Sebastian had agreed to let Clara take his original spot, which meant he was now squashed uncomfortably between her and Charlie, a self-confessed drooler. Charlie had his pack of playing cards out again, but unlike on the bus he had divvied them all out between the four of them so that they could play a game before the Major did his night-round. Sebastian wasn’t very good at cards, he never had been, but he tried his best nevertheless. In the end it was Clara who won - not that anybody had expected anything else. Norman said that Clara was the cleverest person he’d ever met; Sebastian had been tempted to tell him that he’d never met Jim Moriarty before, but despite the urge to in the end he said nothing.

The Major came to check on them just as they finished their card game, as Charlie was in the middle of packing the playing cards back into his rucksack. It was the sound of the Major’s heavy boots that alerted them all to his presence, and as the zip unravelled at the entrance of the tent each of them hastily clambered into their sleeping bags to make it look as though they’d been sleeping, despite the bright torch-light making it obvious that they hadn’t.

“Torches out, let’s go.”

Sebastian obediently turned the torch off, plunging the tent into total darkness. The only light came from the faint glow seeping in through the gaps in the tent entrance, but even then they were still miles away from the glaring street-lights and neon shop signs of Dublin, and so it was virtually impossible to see anything other than the Major’s large silhouette.

“You’ll be up at six o’clock tomorrow, the Corporal and I have arranged a hike first thing before breakfast. Now get some sleep, it’s going to be a busy day.”

It was a minute after the Major had left to check on the next tent that Sebastian slowly dared to rear his head, where Clara was already fumbling around in the dark trying to relocate the torch. Once she eventually found it, bright light flooded through the little tent again, and Sebastian could see the tired, not to mention excited, smile tugging at her lips. He must have been staring mindlessly at her for some time, as to his dismay he soon realised Charlie was watching from his sleeping bag.

“Have you two snogged yet?”

Both Clara and Sebastian turned to look at him, but it was Sebastian whose face contorted furiously with embarrassment.

“Piss off, Charlie.”

Sebastian knew by Charlie’s startled reaction that it had only been a joke, as well as by the uneasy hush which had descended over the tent following his retaliation. His chest felt tight and his heart was pounding, like it always did whenever he was angry, but after a disgruntled huff he finally uttered a reluctant ‘ _sorry_ ’ to Charlie, while simultaneously trying to ignore Norman’s nervously-shifting glances from the other side of the tent. Sebastian could also sense Clara watching him, but he chose to ignore her out of fear that he would only humiliate himself further if he so much as made eye contact with her. But it only lasted for a few seconds, as soon enough Clara had chipped in with her own response.

“Me and Seb are just friends,” she informed the tent boldly, sat bolt-upright from her bed.

“Then why do you always look at each-other like that?” Charlie asked.

“Aren’t we allowed to look at each other?”

Clara fell silent momentarily, before all of the sudden her face erupted into a broad smile.

“I just think Seb has pretty eyes, that’s all.”

There was an unanimous chorus of hushed giggles from around the tent, or at least there would have been if Sebastian wasn’t frozen to his sleeping bag in utter bemusement. For the first time since the conversation had started he turned to look at Clara, who was grinning at him with obvious delight. He couldn’t understand why she had said it, whether it was just a joke to lighten the mood or if she’d genuinely meant it. After all his eyes weren’t anything special, just a murky shade of blue he’d inherited from his mother; sometimes in the Summer the light made them look brighter than they actually were, but he’d never paid close enough attention to notice anything special about them. He tried to make out Clara’s eyes, but in the darkness of the tent it was practically impossible. Thankfully he could remember what they looked like; they were brown, not like the colour of mud, but warm like chocolate, and the leaves when they changed colour in the Autumn.

Once the cascade of giggling had subsided, the amusement of everybody in the tent seemed to dissolve into exhaustion, and one by one everybody crawled into their sleeping bags to prepare for their early start the following morning. The air was cold now, much colder than when they’d first arrived; over the top of his pyjamas Sebastian was wearing a hoodie, which he was extremely thankful for as it meant he wasn’t shivering like Norman was. As he laid down he could hear a string of soft breathing from both other boys, leading him to realise they were both asleep, the only person who wasn’t was Clara.

“Seb?”

“Hm?” He grunted apprehensively.

“I meant what I said,” she whispered, her voice flowing through the quiet air of the tent like silk, smooth and warm. “About your eyes, I really do think they’re pretty.”

When Sebastian didn’t reply, Clara simply shifted herself into a comfortable position and closed her eyes.

“Night, Seb.”

Although he enjoyed all other elements of the cadets, hiking was something Sebastian decided he hated. Judging from the time on Norman’s wristwatch again, they had spent a little over two hours trekking across the rocky hillsides and greenery of the Irish countryside, stopping only briefly every now and again so that the Major could do a head-count or shout at the younger boys for talking too much. They hadn’t had breakfast yet, and so all throughout the walk Sebastian’s stomach was rumbling furiously. Before beginning, they’d been instructed by the Major to pair up; naturally Sebastian had chosen Clara as his pair, despite the previous night’s awkwardness. But thankfully it seemed to all be forgotten, and midway through the walk the eleven-year-old even found himself smiling gingerly when he discovered his half-eaten packet of fizzy cola bottles in his trouser pocket, and when the Major was distracted studying their coordinates he discreetly offered a handful to her.

When they returned to their tents later that morning Sebastian, like virtually everyone else, was eager to get ready for breakfast. There they were encouraged to make their own food, not like at school where the dinners were dished out by the canteen staff wearing aprons and hairnets. He could smell almost straight away the distinct scent of sausages, alongside the sizzle of the grease-ladened frying pan from where the makeshift dining area had been set up next to the minibus. After showering alongside the other boys he made his way back towards his tent to change his mud-covered socks, only to his surprise he could hear muffled sniffing coming from inside.

“Don’t come in.”

Sebastian recognised Clara’s sharp squeal immediately, but couldn’t understand why it sounded as though she was in the midst of crying. He crouched down next to the tent entrance in alarm, and was about to make a noise when the plastic zip opened to reveal Clara’s face poking through the gap, puffy and tear-stained.

“Oh, it’s only you.”

She opened the zip a little wider to allow Sebastian to squeeze inside, which he did clumsily before sealing up the entrance flap behind him. He followed Clara through to where their sleeping bags were, all the while watching as she attempted to wipe the tears from her face with the back of her sleeve. He’d never seen Clara cry before; out of the two of them she was always the confident one, cheerful and outgoing, and it was him the anger problems and shy smiles. When Clara came to a sharp halt in-front of her sleeping bag Sebastian copied her movements and also stopped, but didn’t realise exactly why she was sniffing until he caught sight of something red staining her sleeping bag.

“That’s blood.”

Clara nodded her head, and after wiping away the last of her tears she turned to face Sebastian.  
  
“It’s never happened before… I just stood up and it was there.”

Sebastian sucked in a breath, and looked uncertainly between the sleeping bag and Clara’s embarrassed expression. He’d never encountered anything like it before, not that it was necessarily bad. It wasn’t a sin, like the headteacher at St. Matthew’s had once taught him about after his fight with Elliot Thompson; sins were reserved for things like murder and cheating on your husband with somebody else, not this.

“Do you want me to get some toilet paper from the bathroom?”

“Y-Yes please.”

He tried to be as secretive as possible, sneaking around the back of the line of tents so that he wouldn’t get caught. Since everybody was eating breakfast the bathroom was completely deserted, allowing Sebastian to stuff as much toilet roll as he possibly could into his pockets, before returning back to the tent where Clara was perched anxiously on the floor, hugging to her knees. He left only when Clara told him to, and spent the time pacing back and forth outside of the tent like a tense animal, until finally her voice signalled for him to return again. Obediently the blond clambered back inside, and was relieved to find Clara sat in much higher spirits.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, out of politeness, but also because he felt a little bad for her crying.

“I think so,” she agreed, moving over slightly so that Sebastian had room to sit beside her.

He took the cue, and carefully sat down in the space Clara had created between everybody’s rucksacks in the middle of the tent.

“I know it’s supposed to happen when you’re a teenager, but I’m still so far away from being one.”

“You’re twelve now,” Sebastian pointed out, earning a tiny smile from the girl.

“And so will you in a few months.”

“Six months,” the blond informed her proudly.

“Six months is nothing.”

“It’s a long time,” Sebastian continued. “Dragonflies live for six months, their whole entire lives.”

He was only saying it because Jim had once recited the fact during a gang meeting in the woods, where they’d successfully captured a dragonfly in a glass jam jar stolen from Jim’s kitchen cupboard. Sebastian remembered it so clearly because Jim had taken the injured dragonfly in his hand, and picked its legs and wings methodically apart one by one. It was an excellent day; the sun was hot and they’d both been happy.

“It must be depressing, only living for a short amount of time,” Clara mused, and Sebastian watched as she tilted her head to the side thoughtfully while thinking about it. “What would you do?”

“Watch Ireland play in the Six Nations.” The eleven-year-old shrugged mindlessly. “Or buy a new bike, and ride all across the city."

“Is that all?” Clara asked incredulously.

“Why? What would you do?”

She pursed her lips in concentration, thinking determinedly for a few seconds before eventually coming to a conclusion.

“I’d visit every single one of the wonders of the world.”

“Ancient or new?”

“New, silly.” Clara smiled. “All of the ancient ones were destroyed… I’d go all across the world, on a boat or maybe a plane, and visit every country I possibly can.”

Sebastian had never really considered leaving Ireland before, aside from the hushed conversations he’d shared with Jim as two excitable eight-year-olds, giddily reciting their plans of running away whilst huddled in secret together. He couldn’t picture living anywhere other than Dublin; it was the only place he knew, the only place he wanted to know. In the army soldiers were often deployed to far away countries, from India to Egypt. Even though he knew it was bound to happen one day, Sebastian couldn’t imagine living somewhere so hot and different to what he was used to, somewhere with no chip shop or cinema.

“Seb, can I ask a question?”

Sebastian, who was lost in daydreams of foreign lands, snapped his head upright when he heard Clara still speaking to him. He realised what she had said, and obediently nodded his head.

“Have you ever liked anybody before?”

He was relieved Charlie and Norman were still eating breakfast, but at the same time dismayed that they weren’t there to break the thick tension as it clouded the tent. He could feel his own blood pumping through his veins, and hear his breath each time it spiked or caught nervously in the back of his throat. Sebastian thought briefly about Dean - but that had been a stupid mix-up of feelings when he was eight. Then he thought about Jim, but he couldn’t quite put his feelings for Jim into words.

“I don’t know,” he answered reluctantly.

“When you lashed out at Charlie last night, why were you so angry?”

Sebastian paused for a moment to think about it. In the end he frowned deeply, and looked down at his shoelaces.

“I dunno, I-“ Realising he hadn’t given a proper answer in a long time, he hastily swallowed the lump in his throat. “I didn’t want him making fun of you.”

Out of the corner of his eye Sebastian could see Clara’s face, which had been trained on him the entire time, break into a timid, still tear-stained smile.

“I like you, Seb. Really I do.”

If he hadn’t been sitting down at that moment, then his legs would have turned to jelly. Instead his whole body seemed to freeze, and all he could feel was his chest tightening, as if somebody was squeezing all the air out of him. When he looked up he still couldn’t speak much at all, but enough to whisper the first words that subconsciously tumbled from his lips.

“I like you too.”

It happened like clockwork; one second they had locked eyes, and after an exchange of feverish smiles the next second Clara was leaning towards him, while he remained glued to the spot. Clara’s lips felt soft, like Jim’s, but at the same time they felt nothing like Jim’s at all. It was hard to acknowledge that he was being kissed because Sebastian couldn’t feel anything; there was no rush of nervous butterflies in his stomach, and the only adrenaline he felt was that caused by the fear that Charlie and Norman would walk in on them any second. When Jim kissed him things were different, mostly because the smaller boy was always so delicate and calculated. This time it was clumsy, like neither Clara or Sebastian’s lips knew where to go. It felt like Clara’s lips were pushing against his own, and Sebastian realised all of a sudden that it was because he wasn’t trying to reciprocate it. All the time he’d been sat there, still, lost in a trance while Clara was trying to kiss him, completely oblivious to her shy giggling.

He’d never heard anybody giggle before during a kiss; whenever Jim kissed him he always took it so seriously, as if it was the most important job he’d ever had to do. But why was he thinking about Jim? Jim wasn’t there; he was probably at home, listening to that stupid Walkman of his while sat alone in his bedroom sulking. Sebastian almost didn’t notice Clara pulling away, and when she did he slowly opened his eyes.

“You didn’t like it.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to answer, but realised it had been a statement and not a question. Clara was onto him, like she could see inside of his mind.

“Maybe I did it wrong, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

But the blond firmly shook his head.

“You did it right.”

Clara must have picked up on the tense, shaky tone in his voice, and her curiosity reflected in the way her eyes seemed to widen inquisitively.

“Have you done it before?” She asked in surprise.

“With Jim.”

“Your brother?”

Realising his mistake, Sebastian’s whole face turned a sluggish shade of white. He shook his head, aware of the confused frown plastered across Clara’s face.

“Jim’s not my brother, he’s my friend,” he croaked feebly. “And Kirstie isn’t my mam, she’s Jim’s foster mother. Mine lives in Killarney with her new fiancé, I haven’t seen her in years.”

It felt good getting everything off his chest, all the lies he’d told Clara to make himself feel important. One by one they rolled from his tongue before he could stop them, all the truths about how his father had once been an alcoholic, how he didn’t live in a nice house with lots of money, or with two parents, a brother, and a pet dog. All the time Clara listened in silence, her stoic still filled with confusion and disbelief. When Sebastian finished it was like he was finally able to breathe for the first time, oxygen which flooded his lungs and made his entire body tingle.

“So everything you told me.”

“It wasn’t true,” Sebastian agreed, feeling an air of guilt now he realised what he’d done. “I wanted you to like me, I thought you wouldn’t want to be friends if you knew the truth.”

Clara stared at him, before all of a sudden she did something Sebastian hadn’t anticipated. She laughed.

“You’re an idiot. Of course I would still want to be friends with you, I don’t care if your mam lives in Killarney or not.”

And so Sebastian broke into a weak, slightly hesitant, smile.

“Sorry I lied.”

“Maybe we should spend some time apart,” Clara suggested quietly, her laugh slowly fading away as her expression mellowed. “When we go back to school I think I’m going to hang out with Helen and Lucy, I’ve been invited to Helen’s birthday sleepover.”

“We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course,” the girl agreed. “But you’ve got Jim, and I don’t think I can compete with him.”

Clara stood up to leave, but just before she did Sebastian reached out to stop her.

“Wait, just before you go.”

From his pocket he retrieved the crumpled packet of fizzy cola bottles, where only a few had been left uneaten at the very bottom. He’d been planning to save them for the minibus ride home, but instead he placed them into Clara’s hand.

“Take the rest, you can have them.”

Clara studied the contents of the packet thoughtfully, before carefully she placed it inside of her trouser pocket, making sure it was completely hidden so that no-one else would spot them. She made her way to the entrance of the tent and unravelled the zip, and after crouching down to leave she turned her head to face Sebastian one final time, now with a determined nod.

“See you soon, Seb.”

Sebastian smiled tiredly at the familiar nickname, and watched as Clara Dockerty left the tent for what would probably be one of the last times he saw her. Underneath her uniform he caught a flash of something purple as she disappeared, and realised she was wearing her striped, purple socks, the ones she’d been wearing when they’d first met.

“Bye, Clara.”


	31. The Farewell Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's worst fear is confirmed when the news of Jim's adoption is announced.

As Grosvenor Gang leader, only Jim had the authority to call for an emergency gang meeting. He did so by making his presence very clear, either by throwing rocks at Sebastian’s bedroom window, or shouting so loudly that it woke up the entire street. That morning it had taken three large rocks to collide with Sebastian’s window to wake the older boy, who had grumbled a tired string of swear words upon realising it was Jim stood impatiently outside of his front-door. Jim was wearing his paper crown, a sign which normally meant something important was about to happen; he didn’t give Sebastian much time to dress, and soon enough they were cycling down the street together on their bikes towards the lanes, Jim’s new favourite spot for whenever he wanted to cause trouble. The lanes consisted of a series of derelict houses, a renowned meeting place for drug-dealers and people looking to start a fight. There had once been plans to turn it into a vibrant new neighbourhood, but after the council ran out of money the unfinished houses had all been left abandoned, making them the perfect new headquarters for the Grosvenor Gang. Sometimes they’d arrive to find drug addicts fast asleep on the doorstep of their newly-marked territory, and so Jim would order Sebastian to chase them away with sticks and stones. Jim had even talked about moving into the lanes when he finished school, but Sebastian’s skepticism along with the foul smell of piss had eventually convinced him that it wouldn’t be a very good idea.

Their territory was marked with bright red paint from a graffiti can, warning all trespassers that if they were caught then they’d be executed. After dumping his bike onto the damp concrete outside, Jim stepped through the discarded rubble into the house, where remains of their previous visits weren’t at all far from view; there were broken panes of glass, empty sweet packets, and a display of rude drawings on the wall that Jim hadn’t been tall enough to complete. Each time they visited, Sebastian and Jim smashed up a new part of the house; first had been the living room, then the bathroom, and now today it was the kitchen. With bricks and large metal pipes they spent the morning destroying whatever ounce of the kitchen remained, from breaking the windows, ripping the cupboard doors off their hinges, and repeatedly hitting the wooden table with their metal pipes until one by one each of the legs snapped and the table collapsed into a heap of fragments on the ground.

Jim had been quiet all morning, only speaking occasionally to bark orders at Sebastian, but it wasn’t until they’d finished their grand redesign of the kitchen that his pale lips began to twitch discreetly as if there was something he wanted to say. He dropped the metal pipe from his hand, which landed with a sharp clang onto the concrete below, before beckoning for Sebastian to join him on what was left of the dust-covered windowsill. Sebastian, who had returned from his camping trip only the previous day, obediently did as he told, and waited apprehensively for whatever news there was to be announced from the smaller boy’s mouth.

“I’m moving away.”

“Where?”

“London. Kirstie and Brian want to adopt me.”

It was like a punch to the gut, even the way Jim pronounced ‘ _London_ ’ in his shrill Irish accent felt wrong. He wasn’t Jim Moriarty anymore, he was James Brook, a name that sounded more fit for a politician or a banker than an eleven-year-old boy. Being a Brook made him Kirstie and Brian’s son, even if he wasn’t really, just pretending to be on the pages of the court documents. It also meant Jim finally got his wish of moving away from stupid, boring Ireland.

“James Brook.”

“Why do you keep repeating it?”

“It doesn’t sound right, I prefer Moriarty,” Sebastian admitted timidly, realising he must have mumbled the name at least five times under his breath, accidentally loud enough for Jim to hear him.

“Well it’s my new name, I can’t change it. You should be happy for me instead of moping.”

“Can’t help that I’m going to miss you,” the blond pointed out defensively, earning a pleased smile from Jim who proceeded to pat him on the head.

Sebastian scowled at Jim’s patronising gesture, but watched nevertheless as Jim dug into his pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. It was a postcard, which he adamantly forced into Sebastian’s hand. On the front, it read the words:

“Westminster… a city full of opportunities.”

“That’s where we’re going to live,” Jim informed him, gesturing for Sebastian to turn the postcard onto the other side. There was a picture ofBig Ben and the Houses of Parliament, both gleaming in the bright, afternoon sun; Sebastian thought it must have been a fake, as all he could remember from their trip to London was the non-stop rain.

“Inside of Big Ben?”

“No, don’t be stupid.” The raven-haired boy snatched the postcard back, pocketing it delicately. “I’m still going to live in a house, next to the River Thames… And Brian says we’ll be close to all of the museums, he’s already promised to take me after lessons when I start at my new school.”

Jim was talking at one-hundred miles an hour, making Sebastian feel incredibly dizzy. By the time he blinked sluggishly it was like Jim had changed topics completely, and was now rambling excitedly on about The Natural History Museum, which Sebastian vaguely remembered as being the one with all of the fossils and skeletons inside it. Sebastian wanted to be angry, but he had never seen Jim react this enthusiastically to anything since he’d been put on all of his new medication, and admittedly it was far better from all of the crying and screaming he was so used to hearing.

“Why can’t you stay here?” He blurted out before he could help himself.

He cut Jim off right as the smaller boy was beginning to describe his new bedroom; Jim, who didn’t like being interrupted, scowled as soon as Sebastian asked the question, and glared at him in disbelief like he’d just grown a second head.

“In smelly old Dublin?” He demanded.

“With me,” Sebastian corrected him feebly.

“Can’t,” Jim retorted flippantly, without missing a beat. “Kirstie and Brian keep saying there’s too much of _it_ here… If we go to London then I get to learn about science and atoms, and if I’m cleverer enough then I’ll get to go to a top university.”

Sebastian didn’t dispute whether Jim was smart enough to get accepted into university, because the answer to that was already obvious. He did however frown at the short explanation Jim had given for leaving, which left him feeling very dazed and insignificant.

“Too much of what?”

“Catholicism.”

Sebastian squirmed uncomfortably at the word, but said nothing.

“And sin,” Jim continued regardless. “But sin doesn’t matter so much because it isn’t real.”

“You don’t know that.”

“If the Big Bang created the universe then God can’t exist, doofus… And if God doesn’t exist then neither does sin. But nobody in this stupid town understands science, all they care about is the church, which is why I’m moving away.”

Jim spoke like he had already recited the argument countless times before in his head, and Sebastian listened to every word like an awed puppy. After swallowing the thick lump in his throat he tentatively nodded his head, and allowed Jim to rest his head against his lap. Jim’s hair was covered in little bits of dust and rubble, so carefully Sebastian used the tips of his fingers to thread them out one by one, paying close attention so that he didn’t miss any.

“Will you come to my party?” Jim asked with his eyes closed, purring contently at the soft brushstrokes to his hair.

“It’s my goodbye party, Kirstie says I’m allowed to invite one friend.”

As much as Sebastian didn’t enjoy parties, he would never be able to forgive himself if he didn’t say goodbye to Jim before he left. When Jim opened his eyes for a verdict, he nodded his head, allowing the raven-haired boy to ease comfortably back onto his lap with a satisfied smile. Maybe Sebastian was imagining it, but if he looked closely enough he could still see faint traces of the stubborn seven-year-old he’d first befriended. As Jim lay there with his eyes closed he looked small, and vulnerable, only fuelling Sebastian’s urge to protect him from anything that might possibly hurt him; his eyelashes kept fluttering tiredly in the soft morning light, and every so often he would stifle a subdued yawn, as if the hour of vandalism they’d embarked on had worn him out. Sebastian continued to brush through Jim’s hair, mainly because Jim hadn’t given him the command to stop yet, teasing his fingers carefully through the soft, ebony strands which covered the boy’s head. Sebastian occasionally allowed one of the strands to curl around his pinky finger, just so that he could admire it, and remind himself of what Jim’s hair felt like so that he wouldn’t forget it when he was gone. He decided he was going to miss this, the quiet intervals they so rarely shared, as much as he was going to miss playing with Jim in the woods and listening to all of his fantastical science facts on the street corner after school. Maybe if he begged hard and long enough then Jim wouldn’t go, or if he tried to convince the smaller boy that Dublin was far better than any boring museum he might find in London. But soldiers didn’t beg, and they certainly didn’t show when they were upset; a good soldier was supposed to keep their head high, but Sebastian wasn’t a soldier, not yet anyway. Sometimes he felt lucky that he wasn’t; it meant that instead of straightening his back or puffing out his chest he could take a steady breath, and crouch forward to press a tiny kiss to the top of Jim’s soft nest of hair, gentle enough that Jim wouldn’t feel it.

Jim’s goodbye party took place on Friday after school, the last week before the Christmas holidays. Sebastian made sure to ride his bike home from English club that afternoon, as he knew if he took the bus then he wouldn’t get there in time for five o’clock like Jim had instructed him to. Jim had been strict with his orders; firstly Sebastian wasn’t allowed to wear his school uniform, he had to change into something relatively smart, and secondly he had to stay with Jim all night, incase the party got boring like it inevitably would with so many grown ups around. Doing as he’d been told, Sebastian changed into perhaps the only clean shirt he owned, one with a faded rugby logo on the front. He stole a bottle of his father’s aftershave and sprayed it over himself, before attempting to dampen his hair with water from the sink to try to flatten out the curls which were sticking up. Jim often complained whenever his hair was sticking out, and if all of the raven-haired boy’s new family were going to be there then he decided he was going to try his best to make a good impression.

Natalie was in the kitchen, sorting clothes from the laundry basket into two identical piles on the table. She hadn’t officially moved in yet, but whenever his father was at work she always happened to be there, or she would drop by seemingly unannounced at the weekends. Sebastian, despite it having been four months now, was still resistant to her being there; she’d developed all kinds of annoying habits, like ruffling his hair and shrieking at the top of her lungs at the unfunny jokes his father told, and if his father wasn’t so obviously in love with her then he would have complained. But overall she was nice, and sometimes when he came home from school Natalie would cook him fish fingers or shepherd’s pie for his tea, so before he left that evening Sebastian made sure to tell her where he was going, and when Natalie asked whose party it was he merely smiled and mumbled it was ‘ _for a friend_ ’.

There was a large ‘ _for sale_ ’ sign propped up in the garden soil of Jim’s home, which looked like it had planted only that afternoon judging by the fact that Sebastian hadn’t seen it on his way home from school. Jim greeted him with an impatient glare at the front-door, having evidently been waiting in the hallway all evening for Sebastian to arrive. He was wearing a striped button-up shirt, with so much gel in his hair that somebody could have easily drowned in it.

“Are you hungry?”

When Sebastian didn’t reply Jim carried on anyway, leading him into the house.

“Well I’m starving. And Kirstie’s made my favourite food.”

Sebastian wouldn’t have been surprised if Jim was enjoying all of the attention. As Jim marched him into the kitchen they became surrounded by countless cousins of Kirstie’s, great aunts and uncles who looked like they’d been resurrected from the dead, and family friends consisting of lawyers, librarians, and fellow mathematicians from the university Kirstie and Brian used to work at. It didn’t take long for Sebastian and Jim to realise they were the only children in attendance, which would have caused Jim to sulk if it wasn’t for the extensive display of food on the table, consisting of sandwiches, trifle, and a carefully-assembled cake which looked like it might have been chocolate-flavoured. In the midst of the crowd Sebastian caught the first glimpse of Jim’s new parents; Kirstie was wearing a flowery dress, while Brian was dressed in a suit and tie, only slightly more polished than the one he usually wore to work. For the first time since he’d known her it looked like Kirstie was wearing makeup, and even though it was only a tiny bit of lipstick to match the colour of her dress, Sebastian still thought she looked pretty. He tried waving, but Jim had already dragged him across to the table where the other guests were helping themselves to food.

“Who are all these people?”

“Kirstie’s family, mainly,” Jim hummed dismissively, whose attention had already been diverted as he carefully eyed up the bowl of trifle. “Don’t worry, I already told them all about you. I said you’re in the cadets and you’re really good at creative writing.”

Sebastian blushed deeply, and lowered his head to hide his embarrassment. When he looked back up, he could see that Jim’s beady eyes were still fixated upon the trifle, but with so many people crowded around the kitchen he was beginning to grow increasingly-shy. With an audible grunt Sebastian squeezed past the surrounding sea of adults, and once he was in arm’s reach of the table he made sure to collect the largest bowl of trifle there was for Jim, the one with the most whipped cream and strawberries on top. He loaded his own plate with sandwiches and crisps of all different shapes and sizes, until when one of Kirstie’s cousins cleared her throat behind him he realised he’d taken more than enough and was now holding up the line. Sebastian swiped one final sandwich from the plastic tray on the table, before following Jim outside into the hallway where the air was much quieter. He handed Jim the bowl of trifle, and they both sat down on the staircase away from the music and laughter of the party.

“Thanks, ‘Bastian,” the smaller boy thanked him, digging his spoon into the bowl of dessert.

For a while they were quiet as they ate; Sebastian never spoke with his mouth full, partly because he liked it when Jim commended him for having good manners. He wolfed down each sandwich on his plate in an effort to earn the raven-haired boy’s praise, who noticed how quickly he was eating and proceeded to smile and pat him on the head. Occasionally family members of Kirstie’s would walk past, congratulating Jim on the news of his adoption, which reminded Sebastian of why he was there in the first place. The raven-haired boy remained relatively unfazed by the stream of compliments, even smiling smugly at a few of them, until Kirstie appeared once they had finished their food with a pleasant smile strewn across her lips.

“Are you boys coming? We’re ready to cut the cake.”

Kirstie was the happiest Sebastian had ever seen her; her rosy cheeks were practically glowing with pride, and even when she’d been in the kitchen her bubbling laughter had travelled all across the house in thick waves. He stood up, and followed the older woman as she ushered them both into the kitchen. When it was his turn to walk past her, Kirstie briefly placed a hand on his back, and rubbed it comfortingly. Sebastian wondered if she could sense his confliction, but before he could ask she had already squeezed her way to the front of the expectant crowd to join Jim and her husband. A few family friends were blocking his way, so Sebastian determinedly pushed past them in order to get a good view of Jim, who looked smaller than ever surrounded by the mass of adults.

Brian begun with some antidote about his marriage to Kirstie, which everybody laughed at apart from Sebastian, who didn’t understand the joke.

“We’d like to thank you all for coming,” said Kirstie, whose arm was wrapped gently around Brian’s waist. “As you know, Dublin has been our home for many years. My husband and I met at university here, where we also spent so many happy years teaching as professors of mathematics.”

There was a drunken chorus of cheers from the crowd, which Sebastian supposed must have belonged to Kirstie and Brian’s professor friends. It wasn’t hard to decipher which ones they were; they were typically the ones with the big noses and scraggly beards, who carried the scent of Mint Imperials and often wore round-rimmed glasses.

“But most importantly we met our son, Jim, here-"

“-Who we couldn’t be prouder of,” Brian cut in quickly, his wide smile poking out faintly from beneath his thick beard. “Which is why it’s now time for us to leave and begin a new chapter of our lives.”

There was a small commotion when Kirstie realised they didn’t have a knife, and two guests hastily rummaged around to find one. The knife was passed carefully through the crowd, and when it reached Kirstie she placed it on top of the cake and cut the first slice. It was a good job she happened to be a mathematician, Sebastian thought, when he noticed how each of the slices had been cut into identical lengths. Watching the older woman made him understand why Jim was so good at fractions, especially as the raven-haired boy was watching her hand-motions with intense curiosity. As expected it was Jim who got the first, and largest, slice of cake; Sebastian found himself having to wait in the queue of adults to receive his own plate, but when Kirstie noticed him she smiled coyly and snuck him a slice without anybody else noticing, delicately wrapped in tissue paper for him to hide in his pocket.

“It was a good speech,” Sebastian assured Jim, as he unravelled his slice of cake and took the first, large bite.

“They didn’t talk about me enough,” Jim mused in response, leading the way up to his bedroom where the atmosphere wouldn’t be so loud.

Just as they left Brian had popped open a bottle of wine, which meant in under an hour all the rest of the adults would already be drunk, and so it was best to escape before they were dragged into a round of dull party games.

“They talked about Dublin, and themselves, but not me.”

“Brian said he was proud of you.”

“It’s just selfishness,” Jim continued, like he’d already blocked out what Sebastian had to say. “I didn’t even get one praise about how smart I am, or how I came first place in the junior science fair.”

Sebastian remembered Jim proudly boasting about how he’d won the science competition, which took place every year at St Matthew’s, because it was the same day Clara had come up to him in the pit at school. They hadn’t spoken since the camping trip, nor did they acknowledge each other at cadets anymore, but for the first time Clara had approached him at lunchtime while he’d been trying to scruffily finish off the last page of his German homework. He needed to do well in German, because Miss Dahrendorf had already threatened him with a detention if he missed out on anymore pieces of homework. Clara had sat on the bench beside him, a little awkwardly at first, before eventually the pair had managed to sort things out between them. Sebastian only saw her occasionally nowadays, mostly in English where she sat across the room from him with Helen and Lucy, but he’d come to the realisation that he preferred being alone. It meant he could keep his head down, and stay out of trouble, which suited him perfectly fine.

“Do you think I’m smart?”

“You’re the cleverest person I know, Jim,” Sebastian promised simply.

It was at least the fifth time Jim had demanded an answer within the last week.

“Good,” the raven-haired boy agreed. “Because I’m smarter than Tyler Graham, even though his parents paid for a private tutor to teach him.”

“You’d make a good tutor,” Sebastian pointed out, taking a seat on the end of Jim’s bed as he took another bite of cake.

“Only if I got money.” Jim shook his head. “But the pay still wouldn’t be enough.”

“You could demand more.”

“How much?”

“Easily fifty quid,” Sebastian prompted. “I know a few people in my class who have tutors.”

“That’s just because your school is full of idiots,” Jim rightly huffed.

He’d barely touched his own plate, which Sebastian thought was odd considering how intense his sweet tooth normally was. After handing his leftovers to Sebastian, who interpreted it as a command to eat, Jim got to his feet and approached his desk, where after opening one of the drawers he pulled out a photograph. Sebastian couldn’t see what it was until Jim brought it back to him, where he realised the person on the front of the photograph was a woman, young and beautiful. She had long black hair which flowed down to her chest, and in her arms she was holding a baby, wrapped gently in a white shawl. It was ripped it places, even crumpled, but Jim was clasping it in his pale hands as if it was a highly-valuable artefact. The closer Sebastian looked, the more similarities Sebastian could see between the woman in the photo and Jim. She looked delicate, like if you touched her you’d be able to break her in half like porcelain; her wrists and collarbones were slender, and her chalk-coloured face was accompanied by two, ebony eyes, which looked helpless and tired.

“Who is she?”

“Her name’s Sinead,” Jim informed him without hesitation.

“Sinead?”

The name was unfamiliar, yet Jim’s lips were twisted into a knowing smile, practically radiating with delight. Sebastian looked again between the photograph and the smaller boy, but still he couldn’t understand what was so special about it. The way Jim kept glancing discreetly at the door made him wonder if they were doing something they weren’t supposed to be, but Sinead, whoever she was, appeared to have captivated Jim’s full attention.

“She’s my real mother.”


	32. Sinead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sebastian decide to seek out Jim's real mother.

It wasn’t difficult to find where Sinead Moriarty lived.

All it took was two hours of scouring through old legal documents to discover that she miraculously still lived in Dublin. Jim had been the one to find her, or at least he’d been the one to spot her address scribbled on the back of his birth certificate; it didn’t say anything else about her, only that her full name was Sinead Grace Moriarty, and judging by the date she must have been in around her mid forties by now. Sebastian had helped too, even if it just involved feeding Jim red grapes whenever he requested them, or using his latest growth spurt to retrieve documents from the top shelf of the bookcase when Jim couldn’t reach. With his twelfth birthday approaching, Sebastian’s growth spurts were becoming more prominent, as well as his deepening voice and broadened shoulders. Jim on the other hand had still barely grown more than a centimetre, nor had his voice changed in the slightest from its ordinary shrill shriek; normally he would have been jealous over the fact that Sebastian was bigger and stronger than him, but being friends with somebody like the blond was starting to have its perks. For starters, Sebastian was now the same height as the magazine rack in the corner shop, meaning he could bring back magazines with all the pretty models on the front whenever Jim begged long enough, and secondly it meant nobody on Grosvenor Street picked on him anymore, not after the last time Sebastian had threatened to break the nose of Levi Sullivan after he’d moved in across the road.

It was the week before he was due to leave for London that Jim proposed the plan; Sebastian had returned from cadets to find him lying there on the living room floor, obsessively counting the mountain of silver coins in his palm. Jim was whispering the numbers under his breath, so fixated on what he was doing that he didn’t bother to look over when Sebastian approached. His eyes were puffy, like he’d either woken up early or hadn’t slept at all, and he was wearing the same clothes as when Sebastian had come to visit the previous two times.

“What’s all that?”

“Bus money… Kirstie keeps spare coins in her purse.”

Kirstie and Brian had been gone all morning, into town to finalise their moving plans with the estate agent. A note had been left on the kitchen table in Kirstie’s wavy, cursive writing, instructing Jim that there were two pounds on the side to buy himself lunch from the chip shop, and that they wouldn’t be home until later that evening. Jim must have read it because the two pounds worth of lunch money had both vanished, only instead of using them to buy chips he had them both dangled scrupulously between his fingertips.

Feeling a little uneasy, Sebastian came to crouch beside him, carefully brushing the stray strands of hair from the smaller boy’s face. Jim hadn’t taken his medication; he could tell because his face was tired and his the tips of his fingers were twitching restlessly.

“When was the last time you had a bath?” Sebastian asked with a look of concern.

“Last Tuesday.”

“Jim-"

“-I’m not completely filthy, Sebby,” Jim bit back irritatedly, trying evidently not to lose his train of concentration. “I still wash. I use the soap on the side of the sink to clean my face, and yesterday I washed my hair under the tap. It’s not dirty, just more efficient.”

He then proceeded to place the coins one by one into the palm of his hand, before outstretching them to Sebastian.

Sebastian also wondered when the last time was that Jim had eaten, but he didn’t ask incase it sent the other boy into a meltdown.

“I came first place in the cross-country run today,” he said instead, unwillingly taking the money and shovelling it into his hoodie pocket. “The major says I’m the fastest in my rank.”

“Mm.” Jim barely even had to move his lips to make the sound, which-in turn required very little effort.

When he stood up, he went to fetch something from his bedroom. Sebastian followed warily, knowing that if Jim was having one of his bad days then it was best to stick with him in-case he tried to do anything dangerous. Jim walked straight to his bookcase, where hidden amongst the cluster of physics and astronomy books he retrieved a magazine; it was the same magazine Sebastian had gotten for him a week ago, the one with all the men and women posing seriously on the front-cover. Jim didn’t care for the people in the magazine, he only cared for what they were wearing. He liked the male models in particular, especially when they were wearing expensive suits and ties with their perfectly slicked back hair. Some of them reminded Jim of Sebastian; he enjoyed thinking about what Sebastian was going to look like when he was grown up, how handsome he was going to be.

Jim flipped open onto the first page, where something had been lodged carefully between the two printed fashion columns. After he removed it Sebastian realised it was the photograph of Jim’s mother, which had been carefully hidden away to prevent anymore damage from being inflicted upon it. Jim gently clasped the photograph in his spare hand before looking down to the faded date at the bottom, which happened to the mirror the year he’d been born.

“Do you think that’s her writing?” He asked.

Sebastian tried to take the photograph to look, but Jim was holding it too protectively and so he couldn’t.

“You have to come with me,” he continued without waiting for an answer, reciting the plan he’d clearly already formed in his head. “I want you to meet her too. She’ll like you because you’re strong, and she’ll like me because I’m her son.”

In the end it was Jim’s threat of screaming until he couldn’t breathe anymore that forced Sebastian to begrudgingly comply. They used the money from Kirstie’s purse to board the last bus of the morning; when Sebastian asked for two child tickets the driver had looked at them both suspiciously, and so he’d quickly explained that Jim was his little brother, and they were travelling across the city to meet their cousins. Eventually the bus driver let them both on, and they smuggled themselves into two seats right at the very back where they could have some privacy; Jim took the window seat, while Sebastian decided to guard the aisle in-case anybody he recognised got on.

Around halfway into their hour-long journey Sebastian noticed that Jim was being strangely quiet, and quickly realised upon looking over that the smaller boy was fast asleep; he decided to take off his hoodie and lay it on top of Jim’s torso to keep him warm, and didn’t bother waking him until the bus arrived at their stop.

At first Jim assumed they were in the wrong place, until he registered that the street sign nailed to the wall outside was the same as the one listed on his birth certificate. Where they had arrived was a concrete estate, filled with identically-grey flat blocks, where a group of children were playing football against a heavily-battered metal fence. There was nothing special about it like he had hoped; it certainly wasn’t a castle, it was just an ordinary council estate where ordinary people lived.

Sebastian could sense Jim’s disappointment, and so he reached out to give his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. The children across the road must have spotted them, as they immediately dropped their football and began to jeer.

“We don’t like queers here!” The first child, a girl, shouted, and the rest quickly followed.

“Poofs!”

“Go home before we beat you up!”

At once the red mist in Sebastian’s brain began to build, and he clenched his fists ready to punch the first person to so much as look at him. There were at least seven children compared to only the two of them, but he was convinced that if he punched hard enough then maybe his adrenaline would take over, and he could descend into a blind fit of rage without even having to think about it. But a demanding yell from afar broke his train of thought before he’d even had time to throw the first punch, and within seconds the children surrounding them had picked up their football and scurried away. Sebastian didn’t know what was happening until he realised they were being approached by a woman in her thirties with red dyed hair, whose eyes were fixed upon Jim like she recognised him from somewhere. Jim tensed, and Sebastian instinctively sprung to his defence, standing in-front of the raven-haired boy with his arms outstretched.

“You aren’t going to hurt him,” he declared fiercely.

The woman stopped in bemusement, and shook her head.

“You look familiar,” she said to Jim, before gesturing towards his dark eyes and cupid’s bow. “But neither of you are from around here, are you?”

“We’re looking for Sinead,” Jim explained, patting Sebastian’s arm to get him to stand-down.

“What on Earth are you doing looking for a woman like Sinead Moriarty?”

“We just want to see her,” Jim reiterated stubbornly.

He was irritated by the way the woman was talking about his mother, yet at the same time she appeared to possess far more knowledge than either he or Sebastian had. Jim didn’t like how the woman kept looking at his eyes, so he shot a glaring scowl right back at her and proceeded to hide behind Sebastian’s coat again.

“Please,” Sebastian added desperately at the end.

“Alright,” the woman agreed reluctantly, raising a hand to tenderly massage her temple. “You’ll find her at number fifty. See that big tower block over there? That’s it.”

Both Jim and Sebastian followed her finger as she pointed them in the direction of the tower block; it was the largest on the estate, with the most staircases and the highest number of doors and windows. Number fifty, it seemed, was at least halfway up the tower block, and if they didn’t move quickly enough then it would probably take them all day to reach it. Sebastian thanked the woman for her help, while Jim merely ignored her so that she might stop looking at him. Even when he trailed off closely behind Sebastian he could still feel her gaze burning curiously into the back of his neck, leaving behind a strange tingling feeling which caused Jim to shiver.

“You alright?” Sebastian asked when he felt Jim’s body shudder against his own.

Jim nodded and continued to walk.

“I think she recognised me,” he admitted in a subdued tone, nibbling the bottom of his lip.

“But you’ve never seen seen her before.”

“I’ve got the same eyes as my mam,” Jim said.

Sebastian assumed he was referring to the photograph.

“Like how you’ve got the same smile as yours… Do you think mine’s a mathematician too? Or a scholar? Maybe I could ask her about what type of maths she likes the best.”

Each house they passed was one closer to the one they were looking for; soon enough they were passing the twenties, then they were into the thirties, then only one more flight of metal steps remained. Since it was Jim’s mother they were seeking, Sebastian decided to let Jim lead in-front, only when he saw the smaller boy’s nervousness he alternatively offered out his hand so that they could go together. Jim took it, and they walked the remaining steps in apprehensive silence. Even Sebastian, who had only agreed to come because Jim had forced him to, was feeling anxious, and as he held to Jim’s hand it dawned upon him how sweaty his palms had become.

Jim let go of Sebastian’s hand when they arrived and stepped onto the doorstep. He pressed the buzzer three times, and from inside the hallway a light suddenly switched on.

When the door opened the light came pouring out, revealing with it a woman wrapped tightly in a moth-bitten cardigan, a silver cross dangling visibly from around her neck. If it wasn’t for her dark hair and eyes then Jim wouldn’t have known that the woman stood in-front of him was his mother, especially by the way she looked at him as if she’d never seen him before.

Sinead Moriarty wasn’t beautiful, not like she was in the photograph anyway.

Her skin was old and her face was wrinkled, while her dark hair was beginning to noticeably grey at the ends. Her greying locks might have comforted Jim, who was so used to seeing Kirstie's grey hair around the house that the familiar sight now soothed him, but his mother's hair was wiry and thin in contrast, as if the colour had been acquired not through natural ageing but by stress instead. She’d been holding to a cigarette when the door opened, which explained the smell, and after pressing it for a prolonged amount of time to her lips she finally stubbed it out with a quivering hand, before proceeding to wince as the tar tickled the back of her throat. Sebastian couldn’t help but notice that she looked afraid, more like a frail shadow of a woman than how the photograph had portrayed her; Sinead Moriarty’s eyes were the same shade of ebony as her son's, only they were tired and confused, and her bony frame looked weak, as if with a single touch she might shatter like glass.

“If Bill sent you then tell him I don’t have the money today.” Sinead spoke in a way which made her sound jittery, like with every word her voice was flittering nervously up and down. What might have once been a sweet voice was quiet and hoarse, and even when she spoke her eyes kept darting around anxiously, as if there was some unknown monster lurking in the shadows nearby. “…Tomorrow maybe, or the day after. I already told him things are hard at the minute. I can’t pay him while I’ve got two kids to feed, you’ll have to come back another day.”

Jim was shocked, so much that for a few seconds he couldn’t speak.

By the time he regained speech, Sinead seemed to have caught on that they weren’t simply children who lived on the estate. She looked fleetingly to Sebastian, however her main focus appeared to be drawn to Jim, whose face was so numb that he couldn’t do or say anything. Their ebony eyes locked momentarily, before Sinead uttered a troubled gasp of realisation.

“James?”

“It’s Jim now,” Jim responded bitterly, earning a sheepish ‘ _oh_ ’ from his mother.

“You look so grown up,” she said in return, though it failed to hide how uncomfortable she was.

Sebastian could see with every inch of her body she was itching to get away, with one hand placed upon the front-door as if she was readying herself to close it. She wasn’t how he’d expected Jim’s mother to be; although their features were the same, the silver cross around her neck proved that she was nothing like her son at all. With her spare hand she kept massaging the silver, occasionally squeezing it between her fingers as if to reassure herself, until hesitantly she spoke again.

“How old are you now?”

“Jim’s eleven, but he’s almost twelve,” Sebastian cut in when he realised in dismay that Jim wasn’t going to answer.

Jim was too busy staring, both at the cross dangled from his mother’s neck as well as the concerning lack of affection in her eyes. The religious symbol in particular made him glare; when he peered behind his mother he could see a statue of Jesus in the hallway, balanced on one of the tables, and a wooden crucifix hung prominently above one of the doors. In the photograph she hadn’t been wearing a cross, or maybe she had and it was just hidden extremely well. It was similar to how cold she seemed to be in comparison to the picture. Jim was most disappointed that her dark eyes were nowhere near as warm and friendly as Kirstie’s were, and seemed to radiate hostility rather than any ounce of motherly love. She hadn’t smiled yet, and unlike Kirstie she certainly hadn’t tried to hug him.

“Sorry… who are you?” Sinead asked Sebastian, realising she hadn’t been properly introduced to the boy practically cemented to her son’s side.

“Sebastian Moran, I’m Jim’s friend,” the blond grunted. He didn’t necessarily want to speak to Sinead, but since she was technically Jim’s mother he wanted to seem polite. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Moriarty.”

Jim scoffed loudly. Sebastian secretly hoped that Jim’s mother hadn’t overheard, however he got the impression she had when her cheeks immediately turned an embarrassed shade of red. She was squeezing her cross tighter now, so much that the tips of her fingers were starting to turn white.

“Aren’t you two a long way from home?” Mrs Moriarty then asked again.

“We came to speak to you,” Jim spoke finally, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Jim wanted to talk to you before he goes to London.”

“London?” Jim’s mother repeated in bemusement.

Jim was surprised with how little she seemed to know about him. His mother certainly wasn’t a scientist, Jim realised that now with a bitter resentment; scientists didn’t wear stupid crosses around their necks and pray to an imaginary man who lived in the sky. She couldn’t have been his mother, at least not the one he’d spent so many years fantasising about in his head.

There was noise coming from elsewhere inside the flat; it sounded like a wail, which meant it must have belonged to a baby.

“Who’s that?” Jim demanded suddenly.

His mother tensed at first, and looked reluctant to answer. She looked behind her shoulder briefly, at what Jim assumed to be the kitchen, where the source of the dreadful racket was coming from. When she looked back again she gave a guilty smile, and for the first time the raven-haired boy could properly see her teeth.

“Oh… That’s probably little James, it’s time for his bottle.”

The aghast expression on both Sebastian and Jim’s face was enough to convince Sinead that she couldn’t simply leave two eleven-year-old boys to fend for themselves in the cold, and with a defeated sigh she finally stepped aside to let them through.

“Why don’t you two come inside?” She suggested uneasily, gesturing into the hallway. “I’ll make tea, and then we can talk.”


	33. The Other James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is disappointed to find that his new family aren't what he had hoped for.

Sinead Moriarty made three cups of tea and sat down. Sebastian didn’t like tea, but in an effort to seem well-mannered he drank it anyway. It wasn’t nearly as good as the tea Kirstie made; it was milky, with milk that was more than certainly out of date. He looked at Jim, who was was perched on the sofa beside him and hadn’t yet touched his cup. Jim looked like he was going to be sick; his pale face was whiter than normal, and his head was stubbornly bowed in a way that implied he’d rather stare at the carpet than make direct eye-contact with anyone, even Sebastian.

Sinead sat opposite them, looking apprehensively between both boys as she took tiny sips from her own teacup. The living room was small, cluttered with plastic baby toys and a tray of extinguished cigarette butts which hadn’t yet been cleaned. There were photographs on the wall but not of Jim; they were of two smaller children, one of which was a baby while the other was a small girl around a year or so older. They didn’t look much like Jim either. They had the same raven-coloured hair but their facial features were completely different; the girl’s stuck-up nose reminded Sebastian of a pig’s nose, which maybe was a bit unfair considering she could have only been around three, and the baby was far chubbier and happier than any photograph he’d ever seen of Jim.

He assumed it was the other James, who was cradled contently in his mother’s lap opposite from them.

Sebastian could tell that Jim was getting annoyed by all of the constant gurgles and shrieks because he kept looking up, and glaring enviously towards the useless lump of flesh stealing all of his mother’s attention. If Jim had it his way he would have left the other, far less intelligent, James on a hill somewhere to die like in Ancient Spartan times, where all of the birds and wild animals could fester on his carcass and leave behind nothing but a pile of bones. That way he wouldn’t have to put up with the incessant amount of noise the baby was making, and maybe his mother would actually look at him, her _real_ son, instead of cooing revoltingly over the snot-covered child in her lap. 

“Would you like to hold him?” Jim’s mother asked gently, breaking the tense silence which had been shrouding the living room since their arrival.

Jim adamantly shook his head, whereas Sebastian hesitated before offering a shy nod.

Sebastian liked babies, although maybe it was just because he’d never had any baby brothers or sisters of his own. The closest person he’d ever had to a brother was Jim, but in any family dynamic Jim would have undoubtably been the older, bossier sibling. A lot of the time Sebastian wished he’d had a younger brother or sibling, or at least somebody he could share all of his favourite rugby players with and teach about the world. Jim didn’t count because he already knew everything, which meant most of the time he was the one lecturing Sebastian rather than it being the other way round, but regardless it didn’t alter the fact that Sebastian was still determined to protect him, especially now that they were alone in the flat of Jim’s mother.

Sinead smiled in surprise and scooped up the baby from her lap, passing him very carefully to Sebastian as if he was made of porcelain. Sebastian had never held a baby before, and so when James was placed onto his lap he immediately froze in shock, having not expected him to be so heavy. He awkwardly followed Jim’s mother’s instructions as she showed him how to properly hold him, while in the background Jim was watching jealously, scowling to make the point that he didn’t approve.

Baby James was staring at him with his big, brown eyes, which were the exact same colour as Jim’s only without the little specs of gold in the middle. He was reaching out with his chubby fists and drooling, which Sebastian decided to try and wipe away with the sleeve of his coat, until James wrapped his tiny hand around the tip of his finger and began to suck it. Sebastian smiled bashfully when he felt his finger being nibbled on, which Jim’s mother must have noticed as she then proceeded to turn to her older son.

“You should hold him too, Jimmy, he’s your brother,” Sinead prompted hopefully from across the room, earning nothing but a foul-tempered rolling of eyes from Jim.

“He isn’t my brother.”

“You shouldn’t say such a thing,” his mother practically gasped in shock, taken aback by her son’s sudden coolness. He’d been such an innocent newborn, she hardly recognised how resentful eleven-year-old in-front of her had become. “James and Marianne are both your siblings, they love you very much.”

“Don’t lie,” Jim replied with blunt force. “You haven’t told either of them I exist.”

Sebastian recalled seeing Jim’s little sister, Marianne, when they’d first arrived; she’d been hiding shyly behind one of the doors, peering through the gap so that only her wide eyes and curious expression were visible. When Jim began to scrutinise his mother Sebastian could have sworn he’d caught a brief glimpse of the little girl again, this time teetering by the living room door so that she could spy on what was happening. He tried smiling kindly at Marianne through the gap in the door, however the girl quickly retracted and ran back into the kitchen in fright.

“Things have been complicated,” Sinead tried to explain, looking desperately to her son for sympathy.

Sebastian could tell by her weary expression that she was getting tired, and he couldn’t help but feel almost bad for her. She might have been disappointing, but she was still Jim’s mother after all.

“…Their da’s not around anymore. Bill, my old partner, we used to argue all the time after he’d had a drink. He left last month… oh it was terrible, he smashed a beer bottle against the wall and frightened both the kiddies.”

“So they aren’t my real siblings?” Jim demanded, having not even attempted to listen to the rest of his mother’s unimportant story.

“Half,” his mother agreed defeatedly. “Your father was the same, Jimmy… a heartless man, he left as soon as you were born. He couldn’t bare the shame of having a child born out of wedlock… ‘no one born of a forbidden union may enter the assembly of the Lord’, that’s what the Bible says.”

Jim’s face fell, so much that Sebastian shuffled instinctively closer as if he was frightened that the smaller boy might try and hurt himself.

“Are you going to teach Marianne and James about God too?” He asked.

Sinead lips twitched into what might have been a flustered smile, as if the question Jim asked was either obvious or didn’t make sense.

“Well of course,” she agreed disbelievingly. “God is up there, Jimmy, watching over us all… He’s been watching you too, keeping you safe, that’s why you’re so grown up now. And I know I haven’t been very good at following his commands, but I’m getting better now.”

“God isn’t real,” Jim interrupted her sharply, almost knocking the teacup out of Sinead’s hands with his abruptness. “He’s imaginary, he was made up just to make people like you feel better about themselves.”

Sebastian almost wished Jim hadn’t snapped, because it upset his mother so much that she emitted a choked gasp, and quickly stood up to snatch baby James away from where he’d been holding him in his lap. She held the baby tightly to her chest, rocking him back and forth so that he didn’t cry, where once again the silver cross around her neck was directly on display.

“You have to believe in the Bible, Jimmy,” she spoke in a hoarse, afraid, voice. “The Lord has a plan for all of us… every creature on Earth.”

“Is that why you got rid of me?” said the eleven-year-old sullenly.

Sebastian, who had been in the midst of reaching for his teacup when Jim spoke, felt his heart drop as soon as the question was asked. He tried to take a sip of tea to relax himself, but in all the time he’d been holding Jim’s mother’s new baby the liquid had turned cold, and he quickly put it down with a grimace.

“You were only a babe, I couldn’t look after you… but I’m better now, the pills are helping me,” Sinead whispered in a troubled voice, placing James down onto his play-mat so that she could retrieve something from her cardigan pocket.

When she pulled out the bottle of familiar antidepressants, Sebastian’s jaw clenched in uncomfortable realisation. Jim’s sadness and all of his bad days had all been inherited, and of course they came from his mother. It made sense now why she’d been so jittery when they’d first been stood at the door, and why every now and again she kept flinching as if she was trying to get away from some invisible monster she’d created in her head.

Maybe it was God, coming to punish Sinead Moriarty for abandoning her son all those years ago.

“Pills don’t work,” sniffed Jim, whose reaction to the pill bottle was more angry than sympathetic like Sinead had probably intended for. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of being sorry, because he wasn’t, nor would he ever be.

“They told me about your sadness,” Jim’s mother admitted, getting rid of the bottles back into her pocket.

“It’s depression,” the eleven-year-old corrected her scornfully. “I tried to kill myself.”

Sebastian could sense that Jim was becoming restless, which he put down to the fact that Jim had neither slept properly or eaten in a very long time.

“Do you have anything to eat?” He cut in hopefully, and even Jim’s mother seemed relieved by the change of conversation topic.

She led them into the kitchen, where still hiding behind one of the counters was three-year-old Marianne Moriarty, Jim’s little sister. She tried to duck but didn’t manage in time, and when Sebastian smiled at her she waved timidly in return, while Jim’s mother opened the cupboards in search of something to eat. Sebastian wasn’t surprised to find that the cupboards were bare; he assumed Jim’s mother’s bad days were the same as her son’s, where he could go for days at a time without eating anymore than a tiny morsel of food. Like earlier he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her, but he quickly reminded himself of all the terrible things she’d done to Jim, and so his sympathy didn’t last very long.

Eventually Jim’s mother located a packet of biscuits at the back of the cupboard; like the milk she had used to make tea with they were probably also stale, but Sebastian had a feeling that Jim was more likely to be bribed into eating biscuits than soup or microwavable noodles. Once they had all been laid out on a plate Sebastian picked one up, before snapping it in half and offering it to Jim. Jim eyed the biscuit warily before taking a tiny bite, chewing on it for what was far longer than necessary before painfully swallowing. Sebastian could sense that Jim’s mother was watching them both worriedly, but he tried to ignore her as he continued feeding Jim the second half of the biscuit.

“Are you planning on staying long?” Jim’s mother asked, which was when Jim stopped in the middle of the biscuit he was chewing, and realised his mother was looking over at the clock on the wall.

Sebastian was annoyed that Sinead had interrupted them, as it meant Jim was no longer interested in the food he was desperately trying to convince him to eat. If she’d waited even a second longer then Jim would have probably finished his mouthful, and wouldn’t have spat it out into the sink as an act of defiance. Sebastian didn’t have time to squirm with discomfort, as immediately he picked up a cloth from the side and wiped it against Jim’s lips to clean them, as well as carefully massaging his back to soothe him. He let go of the towel only when he was satisfied, and was so focused on looking after Jim that he didn’t notice Marianne, who was so young that she couldn’t quite understand what was happening, and so she’d instinctively hid herself behind her mother’s long-flowing cardigan.

“Jim came all the way here to see you,” he reiterated firmly, now beginning to feel his own wave of resentment towards the woman. “He’s your son, and you’re supposed to be his mother.”

By the way Jim’s mother’s face suddenly tightened in shock, Sebastian could tell that she was appalled by the insult, and maybe even a little frightened. In what seemed to be a desperate string of movements she reached for her cross again, only this time her sleeve fell slightly, and Sebastian could see the array of tiny stripes covering the skin of her wrist, some white while some were red and new. If he hadn’t been around Jim for so long then maybe he wouldn’t have recognised what they were, but Jim had spotted them too, and Sebastian’s heart leapt with fear at the thought that the raven haired boy might get ideas of his own.

“You need help,” Sebastian continued, which to his dismay Jim’s mother seemed to try and laugh off.

Jim’s three-year-old sister was peeking out from behind her cardigan, her brown eyes wide and intrigued. She was braver than her mother was, then again that wasn’t a hard accomplishment.

“I didn’t invite two nasty little boys into my flat to torment me like this,” Sinead hissed shakily, her voice ladened with a mixture of fear and anger.

Then Sebastian realised she was looking at him, in her bloodshot, confused state.

“At least you must believe in the Lord, Sebastian?”

“‘Bastian’s too clever to believe in an imaginary book,” Jim informed her, breaking his silence for the first time since entering the kitchen. “If you weren’t a moron then maybe you wouldn’t either.”

“Oh… but what about your mother? Did she not teach you?”

“Gone,” Jim added again without missing a beat. “‘Bastian’s silly mother abandoned him to go and live with her new fiancé. If it wasn’t for me he’d believe in all sorts of nonsense, isn’t that right, Sebby?”

Jim looked tired and ill, and Sebastian worried that if they stayed for any longer than he might finally break.

“Thank you for having us, Mrs Moriarty,” he said bluntly, but unlike earlier his voice had turned into more of a grunt. “I think it’s time for us to go now.”

Sebastian pocketed the remaining biscuits from the plate on the table, deciding that if Jim’s mother wasn’t going to eat then then he was going to share them with Jim on the bus journey home; he could feel his own stomach beginning to growl, and it dawned upon him that he’d been so fixed on taking care of Jim that he’d forgotten to think about himself. Sebastian did however smile at Marianne, perhaps the only other person aside from Jim he felt sympathy towards for having such a useless mother. She appeared from behind her mother’s cardigan and shyly returned his smile, until she noticed Jim glaring furiously at her and quickly resumed her hiding place.

Jim’s mother led them to the door, where outside the group of children from earlier were still playing football. Sebastian wanted to march out of the house without saying goodbye, just to prove to Jim’s mother that neither he or her son needed her, but he could see from the corner of his eye that Jim had adopted a much slower walk, as if every step was exhausting his already-small body. He slowed down and waited patiently for Jim, and when they stepped out of the house Sinead followed after them, a newly-lit cigarette now positioned between her bony fingers. She took a long drag from it with the same amount of jitteriness as she had when they’d first arrived, before parting her lips and exhaling slowly so that the grey smoke could mingle with the air. The cigarettes made her look older than she actually was, even though she was only forty, and in Sebastian’s opinion they drained her of what little life she had left.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Jim’s mother mused with a weak, hesitant smile, leaning against the brick exterior while she helped herself to another drag of her cigarette. “They showed me photos of course… such a pretty boy, with my eyes, they said you like maths and science.”

Jim, who had all of his weight rested against Sebastian’s torso, nodded feebly.

“I’m good at maths,” he stated.

“So you want to be a mathematician?”

“Too boring.” Jim shook his head. “I’m going to finish my exams early then study at Oxford, but I don’t know what I’ll do after that.”

Jim’s mother smiled at the words.

“Oxford… what a funny place that is.”

She lowered her cigarette, where the orange embers were still fizzling half-heartedly at the end.

“If you visit me again, you know I’m going to call the police,” Sinead continued simply, and Jim nodded.

“I know.”

“I hope one day you’ll see sense, Jimmy,” she sighed, using the hand which wasn’t preoccupied with her cigarette to brush against Jim’s cheek, admiring its smoothness.

When Sinead’s hand pulled away, Jim looked up at her resentfully.

“You shouldn’t smoke, Sinead, it’ll make your lungs go black,” was all he said in return, pointing to the billowing smoke rising from her cigarette.

“When you were a babe you used to call me mammy,” the woman reminisced, only her words did nothing to fix Jim’s scowl of distrust, and seemed to crumble foolishly into the air like the broken embers of her cigarette. “Or mama, when you were only small and you couldn’t pronounce the words properly. You were so small, I was always so scared of breaking you.”

“Maybe you did.”

Jim didn’t want to look at his mother anymore, not at her tired, ugly face, or the silver cross which felt like it had been taunting him throughout the entirety of his stay, that he wanted nothing more than to pull from around her neck and tear into a thousand tiny pieces. Maybe if it caught around her throat it would strangle her, and she’d die gasping for air without anybody to help her. The more he looked at her, the more he didn’t recognise her, and wished he could forget all about the dirty flat and his stupid half-siblings, both of whom he wished would also suffocate.

Sebastian on the other hand had offered a polite, mostly forced, goodbye to Jim’s mother. As much as he didn’t like her, whenever he looked into the woman’s brown eyes all he could see was Jim staring back at him, just as helpless and small as her eleven-year-old son. He tried to bury his feelings of pity by thinking about how much he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, and demand why she couldn’t have been a better mother for Jim. But the time for that had passed now, the photographs on the wall were enough to prove it.

“Goodbye, Sinead.”

Jim’s mother looked hopefully to her son for a similar goodbye, but Jim had already pulled on Sebastian’s sleeve, and was marching him down the steps of the tower block without a single word.

The ride back on the bus was uncomfortable, made even more so by Jim’s inevitable collapse following the visit to his mother.

Sebastian had hoped that the tumultuous visit to his mother’s flat might have tired Jim out and persuaded him to sleep, but instead it seemed to have done the opposite. Despite being clearly in need of rest, Jim was agitated, and when Sebastian suggested the idea of sleeping he’d immediately fired into a string of insults about how ‘ _brainless_ ’ and ‘ _idiotic_ ’ he was. Keeping control of Jim while standing at the bus stop had been equally just as hard, because every time a car or lorry sped past Sebastian could sense Jim’s body leaning instinctively towards the road, and so his job had been to hold him back and prevent him from teetering too far into the oncoming traffic.

Being with Jim during one of his bad spells was like looking after a young toddler; one moment he could be laughing over some unfunny joke, whereas the next he could be on the bathroom floor, threatening to hang himself from the shower curtain if somebody so much as said something he didn’t like. Sebastian did his best to look after him, but each time he was left more exhausted than the last, and as Jim got older his thoughts were becoming more and more dangerous.

The biscuits Sebastian had taken from Sinead Moriarty’s flat were rectangular shortbreads, with little specs of sugar sprinkled on top for added sweetness. The sugar had spilled all over the inside of his pocket in the duration he’d been hiding them there, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t wolf down half of the remaining biscuits as soon as they took their seats on the bus. He saved the other half for Jim, in the very-rare circumstance that Jim might actually agree to eat one. But unsurprisingly he didn’t, and instead spent the most-part of the journey curled up into a tight ball where Sebastian couldn’t see his face. Sebastian thought about trying to talk to the smaller boy, or apologise for what had happened, but all he could do was hold Jim close and brush through his soft strands of hair without pestering him, even when the first, faintly-muffled cries came from Jim’s mouth.

Jim eventually fell asleep as they were nearing Grosvenor Street, as much as he’d tried to protest against it. He was still as he slept, enough that Sebastian was able to carefully wipe away the tears staining his cheeks, and press a gentle kiss to his forehead. He noticed how one of the other passengers kept looking over at them, but after shooting them a glare they seemed to get the message and stop. Sebastian moved Jim so that his head was rested against his lap, and when he closed his eyes he too found himself falling into a difficult, restless sleep.


	34. Black Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim wreaks havoc when his social worker pays a visit. Kirstie comes up with a way to bribe him.

Jim recognised Caroline’s voice the moment he heard it flood through the hallway, the woman he hated most in the whole entire world.

Caroline, his social worker, was always busy nowadays. She hardly ever came to visit unless it was an emergency, and whenever she did she always looked tired and overworked. Her fellow colleague had resigned two months prior; since then it had become her job to balance all of the adoption cases by herself, and just by looking at her face it was clear to tell she was feeling the strain.

Jim might have felt bad if he liked Caroline, but he didn’t, nor had he ever pretended to; she was eccentric, obsessive, and always treated him like a baby even though he was almost twelve. Sometimes he fantasied about killing her, which could be easily accomplished by lacing her tea with nitroglycerin, the type listed on the back of Kirstie’s chest pain tablets. But for now he needed her alive, at least until he got to London, by which point she’d be completely insignificant anyway.

Caroline arrived on Sunday, when the last of the moving boxes had been placed into the boot of the car. Jim hadn’t see her since his adoption hearing, which had taken place a few days prior. He almost hadn’t recognised her at the time because she’d been wearing a blazer and skirt, so unlike the woollen jumpers she almost always wore during her visits to make herself look friendly and less intimidating, not that Jim was intimidated by her. Everybody in the courtroom had been dressed in some sort of formal outfit, even Jim who had specifically requested to wear a suit. He’d seen a suit he liked in his favourite fashion magazine, where the model was posing in an outfit made entirely of expensive black silk. After an arduous amount of begging to Kirstie she had finally agreed to buy him a suit for the day, but the one he’d gotten instead was cheap, so uncomfortable that throughout the hearing he’d been tugging and itching relentlessly at the collar.

It had also been Jim’s first time seeing a judge, who looked far bigger in real life than he’d imagined in his head. The courtroom itself had been strange; the way everybody had been staring at him made Jim feel he was really on trial for doing something bad, and Kirstie must have recognised his uneasiness as halfway through the judge’s verdict she’d reached out to give his hand a tight squeeze of reassurance. They’d celebrated afterwards with a trip to the science gallery, only it hadn’t been long until the novelty of becoming a Brook was starting to wear off.

It started when Jim wouldn’t take his medication, countered with the surprise visit Caroline paid on the last day before they were due to leave.

Jim was in his bedroom, where he’d spent most of his time hiding since the disappointing trip to see his mother. There wasn’t much left in his bedroom anymore; all of his books sat in cardboard boxes inside the car boot, and his clothes were organised neatly in a suitcase by the door. All that was left was his bunk bed, which was too big to take to London with them, despite Jim’s claims that Sebastian would be strong enough to carry it. He didn’t mind too much because he’d already been promised that his new bedroom would be twice the size of his current one, where he’d finally be allowed to paint his walls red.

Jim was flipping through the pages of his fashion magazine, curled exhaustedly under the depths of his duvet cover. Since refusing his pills he’d napped on and off in a disturbed pattern of sleep, and hadn’t changed into anything other than his pyjamas which were beginning to smell. If he took them then he’d only end up like his mother, useless and confused; he’d seen the way she’d clung to her own bottled antidepressants, dependent on them like a drug or alcohol addiction. He didn’t want to be like her, Sinead Moriarty, or anything like his bratty siblings; but they were only his _half_ siblings, not his real ones.

When Kirstie came to check on him, Jim could tell she was worried.

It was as if she was a mind reader, either that or her maternal instinct had gotten a lot better since becoming a real parent. She knocked on the door before entering; she hadn’t always done it, but now that Jim was on the verge of turning twelve she wanted to give him some privacy. When Kirstie opened the door Jim could hear the sounds from downstairs, where Caroline was already making her presence known with her insufferable laugh. Kirstie stopped at the ladder of his bunk bed, wearing a sympathetic frown on her face.

“What one is that?” She asked gently.

Jim rolled onto his side and showed her the magazine.

“Men’s Fashion… Sebastian got it for me with his pocket money.”

Kirstie observed the muscle-ladened models on the front cover, and with a blush she handed it back to him.

“Isn’t that a little unfair?”

“‘Bastian doesn’t mind.” Jim shrugged and returned to the page he’d been looking at. “He only ever spends his pocket money on sweets and army posters, I’m doing him a favour by making him spend it on something useful for once.”

The page he was looking at displayed a man with not very much clothing on; apart from his trousers, the rest of his body was on full display, with big curling biceps and abdominal muscles all arranged in neat rows across his stomach. Normally Jim skipped past the pages when the models weren’t wearing anything, but for some reason he found himself drawn to this one, maybe because the man looked a little like Sebastian with a beard.

Kirstie could see he was distracted, and with a pleading sigh she attempted to pull back the covers he was hiding underneath. When Jim snatched them back, it dawned on her that she’d already lost the battle.

“Why don’t you come downstairs to see Caroline? She came all this way to see how you’re doing.”

“That’s her job, it’s what she gets paid to do,” Jim said bitterly.

Then he curled into a tight ball, just to prove his point.

“This isn’t healthy is it, Einstein?” Kirstie tutted, carefully reaching forward to brush her fingers through Jim’s hair, which the eleven-year-old begrudgingly allowed. “You haven’t washed or slept properly in days… Brian and me know you’ve been skipping meals.”

“Brian and _I,_ ” he corrected her.

Kirstie stopped with her hand still slotted amidst Jim’s mess of dark hair, and grimaced painfully.

She trailed her hand down so that it met with Jim’s face, before gently stroking his pale cheek with her thumb.

“If you’re scared about the move then you can tell me, right?”

Even though she could solve maths equations in a matter of seconds, sometimes Kirstie wasn’t very clever. It was extremely easy to lie to her; the last time had been when he’d told her he wasn’t responsible for smashing the bird’s nest in the garden, after she’d arrived home from work horrified to find a mess of egg shells and broken twigs on the grass. Instead of telling her he’d gone to visit his mother, Jim had lied about spending all day at the park with Sebastian; as a result Kirstie still didn’t know anything about the trip, but judging by her expression she could tell that something was deeply wrong.

When Jim didn’t reply, her worry only heightened.

“How about… if you come downstairs and have some breakfast I’ll give you a reward?”

“What type?”

“This afternoon I’ll take you and Sebastian to the science gallery. I’m sure he’d love to see the exhibit about war planes.”

Jim didn’t want to move, so in the end Kirstie scooped him up in her arms and lifted him down from the bunk bed. Jim’s body was still childlike, so it wasn’t hard to carry him downstairs to where the other two adults were patiently waiting in the living room; by the sound of it, Brian had been in the middle of an anecdote when they entered, and Jim’s social worker looked up from her cup of tea to stare bemusedly at the sight in-front of her.

The stress of her job had made Caroline old, by the appearance of tiny wrinkles straining at the skin around her eyes and brow.

“I think being carried is a little inappropriate, don’t you, James?“ She said after setting down her teacup, attempting to smile forcibly at the eleven-year-old boy. “You aren’t a baby anymore after all.”

“Jim isn’t feeling well today,” Kirstie piped, a little too sharply for her usual politeness.

She placed Jim onto the sofa before the social worker could make any more unwanted remarks, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of his head before disappearing into the kitchen to make some toast. Despite his head being buried against the fabric of the sofa, Jim could already tell that Caroline was looking at him; he could feel her curious stare piercing into the back of his neck, and when she asked her next question he had no choice but to drag himself into an uncomfortable sitting position, rubbing his eyes with considerable difficulty.

“Up late reading all those books again?” The social worker asked, trying to make small talk while Kirstie was busy in the kitchen.

“You woke me up,” Jim corrected her scornfully, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the bright light pouring in from the windows. “…I’d been sleeping until your fat mouth ruined everything.”

Caroline swallowed uncomfortably, and tried not to look alarmed.

“I see... well James, I’m very sorry.”

“That isn’t very kind, Jim,” Brian prompted from the sofa opposite, looking equally just as worried as Kirstie had been. “Apologise, please.”

Jim ignored the instruction, and shrunk back into a protective ball instead.

“It’s fine,” Caroline promised unconvincingly, waving a hand.

She observed the exhausted eleven-year-old in a moment’s concern before deciding to change the topic.

“I’m sure you’re just excited about moving to London, isn’t that right?”

Her question was cut off by the return of Kirstie, who entered holding a plate of crustless toast smothered in strawberry jam. She set it down in-front of Jim, but after taking one look at the jam Jim made a noise of disgust, and furiously pushed it away. The whole room noticed, especially his social worker, whose smile had morphed itself into a troubled crease of her brow instead, as she looked down towards the list of notes on her lap; she could have been certain that Jim’s behaviour hadn’t been this bad during her last visit. The two other adults exchanged uneasy glances, until Kirstie broke the silence by whispering desperately in the smaller boy’s direction.

“Just one little bite?”

Jim firmly shook his head.

“I don’t like jam, if you make me eat it I’ll spit it out.”

“What if I take the jam off?” She asked, with no success.

Kirstie then crouched down beside him when she realised she wasn’t going to get an answer, and gently lifted his chin so that Jim was looking at her.

“Remember what I promised about the science gallery?” She reminded him softly, in a voice only she and Jim could hear. “One slice, that’s all.”

When Kirstie pulled away Jim hesitated, before reluctantly he reached for the smallest piece of toast he could see. He nibbled on the edge, squirming in disgust as the slimy texture of jam rubbed against his tongue, and once he’d chewed the most minimal amount possible he swallowed. Jim carried on eating while his social worker asked Kirstie and Brian to join her outside in the hallway, and through the gap in the doorway he could still hear a muffled interpretation of what they were saying.

It started with Caroline, talking in what she probably thought was a hushed whisper.

“He’s getting worse. I thought the medication had settled things down?”

Next came Kirstie’s voice, which sounded flustered but determined.

“Jim’s only eleven, it isn’t fair for him to be drugged up like that.”

“And you think this is any better?” came Caroline’s critical response. “He’s sick, just look at how exhausted he is.”

“All he needs is to adjust to what’s happening,” Kirstie hissed back. “It’s a big change… Jim’s leaving his best friend behind, of course he’s going to be upset.”

The next part was muffled, so Jim struggled to hear it, but after a short pause he recognised Caroline’s voice again, which sounded practically enraged.

“Every child has to lose a friend at some point. He’ll move on and make plenty more at his new school, I’m sure.”

“It’s more complicated than that-"

“-Sebastian is Jim’s only friend,” agreed Brian, who had stayed quiet for the majority of the conversation until that point. “They’re inseparable. We just need to be gentle with him until he settles into a new routine.”

“Nonsense,” the social worker dismissed in a brash voice. “James needs his medication, not all of this babying. I’ll see to it.”

When the door reopened, Caroline marched confidently back inside, and crouched down in-front of Jim like Kirstie had previously done, only this time without any trace of affection. She tapped him on the shoulder and crisply cleared her throat, while Kirstie and Brian watched with apprehension from the doorway.

“James, young man I want you to look at me.”

“And I want you to die,” Jim grunted despondently from his cocooned ball, his breath still smelling of the sweetened jam he’d just eaten.

Caroline didn’t say anything for a moment, as if she was perplexed by the statement.

“You’re going to finish your breakfast and take your medication,” she continued, trying to put on a stern, authoritarian tone and failing miserably in the process. “And then you’re going to take a bath, you’ll feel much better with some clean clothes on.”

“You can’t make me do anything,” Jim sniffed. “If ‘Bastian was here he’d shout at you for annoying me… He doesn’t like people making me sad.”

“Am I making you sad?”

“Yes,” Jim agreed. “And if you carry on I’ll cut my wrists open and bleed all over the floor. Then I’ll tell everyone you were the one who made me do it.”

He could tell he’d hit a nerve, because Caroline immediately tensed and made a strained gasp which caught in the back of her throat. Even without looking at her Jim could tell she was flustered, which greatly pleased him and the desire he had to make her suffer. It must have worked, as when Caroline next spoke her voice was wobbling, as she tried to cling to the last ounce of control she had.

“Well that wouldn’t be the truth, would it?” She asked defensively, her cheeks immediately reddening.

“It would be if you keep pestering me. Now can I go back to bed? I want to read my magazine.”

Defeated, the social worker slowly rose to her feet and rubbed her eyes. She left to speak to Kirstie and Brian once more, which gave Jim the perfect amount of time to crawl to his feet and finish off the last of his toast. He could hear the three voices submersed in a heated discussion again, angrier than the last time, only when he opened the door they all stopped abruptly mid-sentence and turned to look at him.

“I should be going,” said his social worker, relieved by the interruption, who dug into her pocket and retrieved what looked to be a small present bound in string. “Before I go, I came to give you a little something I thought you might like… After all, I won’t be seeing you again after today.”

Jim cautiously took the gift, and after tearing away the wrapping paper he marvelled at the sight before him. It was a snow globe; in the middle was a model of London, which when he shook up and down made it look as though the whole of Westminster was covered in snow. Jim stared at the present, transfixed, before eventually Caroline’s voice drew his attention back to the present.

“Good luck in London, James,” she said.

Jim, being too stubborn to swallow his pride, didn’t say anything in return. Afterwards Caroline said goodbye to the two other adults, shaking Brian’s hand, and giving Kirstie a noticeably-awkward hug, before explaining that they were always welcome to phone her once they were settled in their new home. She left with a tired smile, rather hastily as if she was already late to her next client appointment, and when the door closed suddenly Jim could feel Kirstie’s arms wrapping around his shoulders from behind, almost engulfing him in an abundance of flowery fragrance and wool.

“Shall we get you bathed, Einstein?”

The bath was perfect; not too hot, and not too cold.

Kirstie added soap mixture to the water, which made it froth and bubble much to Jim’s delight, who had sat on the side of the basin to make sure she used just the right amount. When the bath was full, Kirstie turned her back so that Jim could undress in peace, and once he gave the command for her to look she did so respectfully. Jim didn’t mind the older woman being there, as long as the lower half of his body was covered and she promised not to look when he stood up.

He wasn’t like Sebastian, who would no longer take off his shirt in-front of him. Even when Jim asked if they could go up to his bedroom Sebastian always became defensive, and despite Jim’s protests would refuse to tell him what he was seemingly hiding up there. Jim had a feeling it was another adult magazine, which he’d caught once poking out from inside his schoolbag, and explained why Sebastian was always so desperate to go home by himself when school finished each day. Jim still didn’t understand why Sebastian was so embarrassed about the habit, especially when it was obvious, and the women on the front cover of his magazine weren’t actually that pretty.

Kirstie gathered a handful of shampoo, and after instructing Jim to close his eyes she began applying it to his hair. Her fingers were gentle, and worked meticulously to make sure that every chemic-ladened drop was properly rubbed in, before using a jug of water to rinse them out. Jim didn’t like having his hair washed, so he sat impatiently while Kirstie finished off, and squeezed his eyes shut even tighter whenever the warm water came pouring over his head so that none of it got on his face. When the older woman finished she turned her back once more, and slowly Jim climbed out from the bath; he collected his towel from the floor and wrapped it around himself while Kirstie stood facing the door. Once he’d fastened the towel around his waist, Jim looked at her and frowned.

“I don’t have to call you mam, do I?”

“Of course not,” she replied in a surprised voice, still with her back turned. “Why?.. Is that what all of this is about?”

Jim hesitated, which Kirstie must have noticed as cautiously she turned to look at him.

“Oh… Jim.”

He didn’t like crying in-front of anyone other than Sebastian, who always promised to keep it a secret. He cried a lot in front of Sebastian, but it didn’t matter because Sebastian was his second in command, and so he had to abide by everything Jim told him to do, which meant refusing to tell anybody that he’d been sad.

The tears came from nowhere, and startled Kirstie so much that she emitted a sympathetic sigh and hastily made her way over. Even she wasn’t used to seeing him cry, because when she crouched down in-front of him there was a deeply troubled frown on her face, which disappeared only when she pulled him into a hug. Kirstie’s hugs were nice, second-best only to those that Sebastian gave him. Despite his defiance, Jim soon surrendered, and rested his head against her shoulder while she calmly smoothed down his wet hair. He’d expected Kirstie to say something, but when she didn’t he realised it was because she was being patient, and trying not to rush him.

Jim got to decide when the hug was over, and as soon as his tears stopped he stubbornly pushed the older woman away. Kirstie didn’t appear hurt by the gesture, like she’d predicted it to happen, and when she stood back up she observed the mess in the bathroom, before deciding it would have to be dealt with later. When she noticed that Jim had begun to shiver in his towel she made her way downstairs to where his suitcase was packed, before returning promptly with a fresh set of clean clothes.

“Don’t think just because you live with us now you have to call us mam and dad if you don’t want to,” she promised, helping Jim to lift his shirt over his head before rolling down his sleeves. “You can still call us Kirstie and Brian… In-fact my name’s only shortened to Kirstie, it’s actually Kirsten.”

When Kirstie saw the look of disbelief on Jim’s face, she instantly chuckled.

“I don’t like it very much, I think it makes me sound old.”

“You aren’t old,” Jim sniffed fiercely, as he ushered the woman away so that he could tug on his trousers.

His response must have lifted Kirstie’s mood, whose cheeks turned to a flattered shade of pink. She folded her arms, and reopened her eyes as Jim finished adjusting the collar of his shirt.

“You’re a charmer, you know?”

“I’m also clever,” Jim added, as if he was worried she might have forgotten.

But Kirstie only laughed.

“Charming _and_ clever,” she agreed with a heavy fondness. “You’re the cleverest boy I know.”

Her words of praise floated through Jim’s ears like magic, which he lapped up at once with an overwhelming sense of gratification. His subsequent smile was filled with smugness, and for the first time in days he seemed genuinely delighted by what he was hearing.

“Do you think the people at my new school will be smarter than me?”

“Not a chance,” Kirstie assured him. “…But I know there are going to be lots of friendly boys and girls there, and you’ll make lots of new friends. Remember the leaflet I showed you? Your new school has its own science club, when we meet the headmistress we can ask her if you’re allowed to join.”

Her final words sounded more like a push of encouragement, which Jim pretended he hadn’t heard. Realising that now wasn’t the time to bring up such matters, the older woman offered an apologetic smile and squeezed his shoulder.

“It’ll be alright, I promise. At the weekend we’ll go and buy that red paint you wanted to decorate your room, we can even see if any museums are open while the moving company sort out our furniture. You can choose which one we visit.”

Despite his resistance, it was the promise of the museum that persuaded Jim to eventually nod, and reminded him of the other similar promise Kirstie had also made.

“You’ll still take me and Sebastian to the science gallery today, won’t you?” He asked immediately afterwards, to which Kirstie seemed relived.

“If you two behave I’ll even take you to the gift shop afterwards,” she whispered with a playful smile, knowing already that she’d take them regardless.

She wasn’t cruel, or at least she didn’t like to think that she was.


	35. What Makes A Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim takes Sebastian to the science gallery.

Sebastian had never been to the science gallery before.

They were greeted upon arrival by a giant model of a jet plane suspended from the ceiling, which he recognised with an air of pride from his English lessons at school. They’d learnt about the Second World War last term, and been given an essay to complete over the Christmas holidays by Mister Finchley; Sebastian had written his essay from the point of view of a soldier, fighting in the Normandy Landings, and tried to fill it with as many similes and alliterations as possible to earn the approval of his teacher. He was still part of St. Cecelia’s creative writing club, which met every week after school in Mister Finchley’s classroom; now that he didn’t have many friends it was the only part of school that wasn’t boring, especially since Mister Finchley was in charge of it, with his dangling moustache and coffee-stained tie.

Jim was stood next to him wearing his paper crown, arguing about black holes with the security guard who had let them in. Jim had invited him to the science gallery, or more specially he had stood on his doorstep and demanded that Sebastian came with them. Kirstie was there too, desperately trying to coax Jim away from the poor guard with a map of the gallery she had picked up on arrival; she looked tired, maybe because it was so close to moving day, or because Jim had spent the last five minutes trying to furiously explain to the middle-aged man how general relativity worked. His eventual sigh of discontent implied that he had finally grown bored, and as he marched away from the ticket desk he reached for Sebastian’s open hand, grabbing it so that he could steer the blond in the same direction. Sebastian followed obediently, noticing that the smaller boy was tense, but not daring to say anything incase it upset him. He was wearing the same pair of dirty trainers he’d worn to his cadets meeting that morning; Sebastian hadn’t realised they were still dirty until Jim, who was a few paces ahead of him, pointed out that he was leaving behind a trail of mud on the polished floors, with an added chime of ‘ _nobody likes a messy soldier, ‘Bastian_.’

The first exhibit was the same one that had been advertised on the posters outside; it was a collection of old war memorabilia, from artillery tractors and tanks, to bits of broken plane wings and propellors arranged inside of large glass display boxes. The exhibit was crowded, mostly with parents and young children on their school holidays, which explained why the guards kept angrily lecturing people for touching the displays. Sebastian wondered if anybody around them thought he, Kirstie, and Jim were related; he didn’t have Jim’s dark eyes, or the older woman’s hair, but even the man at the reception desk had treated them with a warm smile, and offered them a family ticket upon seeing how possessively Jim was clinging to Sebastian’s hand.

He wanted to look at the war planes, but Jim promptly dragged him over to the busiest display, containing the old scraps of a broken tank. A group of young children were hogging the view, and after realising that Jim couldn’t see the display Sebastian forcefully barged past them all, so that he and Jim could move to the front. The young children quickly scattered, and once they were alone Jim pressed his hands against the glass, observing the contents with interest. Sebastian did the same, however he didn’t want to be told off by one of the guards for touching the display, so instead he hovered protectively by Jim’s side and followed his fixated gaze.

“This wasn’t here the last time I came.”

“It must be new,” Sebastian pointed out earnestly. “They change exhibits all the time. The poster outside said this one will be gone after the school holidays, and then there’ll be something else.”

“But what will happen to the displays?” Jim persisted, adamantly gesturing to the rest of the room.

Sebastian looked to where Jim was pointing, at each of the jet propellers and rusted engines perfectly preserved behind their glass boxes.

“They’ll probably go back to the war museum… the gallery doesn’t own them, they’ve only borrowed them.”

When Sebastian finished his explanation, he noticed the attentive frown on Jim’s face. He wondered if the talk of being replaced had upset him, but before he had time to get his answer one of the guards had approached, with crooked, round-rimmed glasses and a slightly curved nose. At first Sebastian thought he was about to shout at them for touching the glass, until he noticed the guard’s friendly smile and slowly relaxed.

“Are you interested in the tank?”

Sebastian nodded eagerly, while Jim simply glared at him for disturbing their conversation.

“It’s a Königstiger, which means Bengal-"

“-Tiger,” Sebastian replied shyly at first, recognising parts of the word from his German lessons at school.

He grew in pride however upon seeing the impressed look on the man’s face, as well as the similar expression on Jim’s face, who it turned out had been secretly listening with interest.

“Very good,” commended the security guard, nodding his head. “Do you know what the Allies used to call her?”

When both boys stared at him, mystified, the guard chuckled and continued.

“The King Tiger.”

He gestured to Jim’s crown, who grinned with delight at the acknowledgment.

“But that isn’t right,” Sebastian insisted in deep confusion.

“It’s not,” agreed the man. “They translated it wrong. But the message still stands… she was pretty heavy, and dangerous too; it’s no surprise everybody feared her so much.”

Sebastian could feel Jim squeezing on his hand, and turned to find a look of triumph still stretched across his pale face. He thought back to his own tiger-patterned duvet cover, and reddened sheepishly when he remembered all the times in the past when he’d told Jim that tigers were his favourite animal. Maybe Jim had also remembered; his brain was like a library after all, full of vast shelves and books containing pages full of information. It fascinated him, the way that Jim was able to absorb information from all the maths and science books he read, seemingly without even paying much attention to them. Sebastian wondered if there was a book about him somewhere inside the smaller boy’s brain too, or if Jim would still remember him when he was gone.

They ate their lunch in the second floor cafe, next to a line of railings overlooking the entrance. Kirstie bought them each a slice of treacle tart as a treat, but Jim wouldn’t eat his portion unless Sebastian fed it to him, and so each time Sebastian scooped up a forkful of pastry he would offer it to Jim first for him to delicately nibble on.

After browsing a few more exhibits, which were far more boring than the war exhibit, they returned to the gift shop at the front of the gallery. Jim, with the five pounds spending money he’d been given by Kirstie, wanted to buy a book on general relativity. Sebastian on the other hand wasn’t interested in books; he had spotted a model tank on one of the shelves, attracting the attention of the raven-haired boy who came curiously bounding over to see what he was looking at.

“Why did the security guard keep calling the tank ‘ _her_ ’?” Jim asked, stopping by Sebastian’s side so that he could observe the row of toy tanks and army action figures.

“Because that’s what you call vehicles,” Sebastian explained, picking up one of the plastic models and admiring it in his hand.

Kirstie had offered him five pounds too, but he’d been adamant that he wanted to use his own pocket money instead of seeming selfish. As a result he only had two pounds, which were clasped firmly in his palm to prevent them from getting lost. He didn’t get much money from his father, but it was enough to buy himself lunch at school, and sometimes magazines for Jim whenever the smaller boy demanded that he wanted one.

“Does that mean the bus you take to school is called a her?” Jim pondered thoughtfully, and Sebastian shrugged.

“I s’pose so.”

“And the plane I’m taking to London?”

Sebastian’s mouth dried at the mention of London, but he nodded regardless, trying to ignore the wrench of sadness as it twisted at his insides, like it did every time Jim mentioned the move.

“Have you found your book yet?” He asked, trying to change the subject.

“The woman at the front desk said I don’t have enough money.”

Without thinking, Sebastian outstretched his hand, and dumped the two pound coins he’d been concealing for safekeeping into Jim’s palm. He’d been saving them for the model tank, but he knew how desperately Jim wanted the book, which was clear from the abrupt grin which tore across his face the moment he was handed the money. Jim decided to show his gratitude by standing on his tip toes and giving Sebastian an affirming pat on the head, as well as a tiny kiss which brushed delicately against the edge of his cheek. Jim’s lips were soft, and continued to tingle against Sebastian’s skin even when Kirstie came over to ask if they were ready to leave.

They shared Jim’s Walkman on the way home, taking it in turns to listen to the heavily-synthetic music as it poured out through the speakers of the headphones. Jim asked Sebastian if he was going to stay until dinner, though it didn’t take any convincing for the older boy to agree. As a result he found himself sprawled comfortably on Jim’s bed, trying his best to keep his muddy shoes off of the duvet cover so that they didn’t stain, while Jim cocooned against him and flipped through the pages of his newest science book.

“Read me some facts from your book,” Sebastian requested, subconsciously brushing his hand through the smaller boy’s ebony hair, occasioning twirling a couple of strands around his pinky finger so that he could admire them.

“Objects with a large mass will cause distortions in space time,” Jim began to read aloud, his gaze hovering tiredly over one of the diagrams on the page he had turned to. “If a mass is big enough then it’ll distort space time and form a black hole.”

Despite not knowing what any of it meant, Sebastian listened intently as if to give the impression that he understood. He liked listening to Jim talk; it was like he was speaking in a foreign language, only his voice was soft, and the words rolled effortlessly from his tongue as if he had already rehearsed them a hundred times in his head. With almost all of his furniture gone Jim’s shrill voice seemed to bounce across the empty walls, leaving behind a faint echo which caused Sebastian to smile. When Jim finally finished the segment he’d been reading he closed his book and rolled over onto his front, looking expectantly up at Sebastian.

“I’m not scared.”

Sebastian, whose hand had been tangled in Jim’s messy hair, let go at the words and softened at once.

“I know you’re not,” he mumbled hoarsely, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy.

Jim made no attempt to protest; he melted again Sebastian’s touch, allowing himself to be pulled against the taller boy’s chest, close enough that he could feel the fibres of Sebastian’s t-shirt tickling against his chin. The afternoon at the science gallery had worn him out, and his heavy eyelids kept fluttering as if they were battling against the urge to sleep.

“They said I can come back for the Summer holidays,” he said soberly. “And maybe next Christmas, if everything works out okay.”

Sebastian nodded.

“What about my birthday? You’ll miss me turning twelve.”

“I’ll send you a card,” Jim promised with an air of determination. “And I’ll call you on the phone as soon as I arrive. As long as you give me your number.”

Sebastian beckoned for his hand, and Jim did as he was told and outstretched it. He used a pen from the pencil pot on Jim’s table to scribble his home telephone number onto the boy’s open palm, his face twisted in concentration as he tried to remember all of the digits. Jim fidgeted restlessly until it was done, when he raised his hand to his face and admired the numbers with satisfaction.

From beside him Sebastian watched with a face like stone, unable to share Jim’s same enthusiasm.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Don’t be silly, ‘Bastian,” Jim scolded him, trying to disguise his own nerves as he dropped his hand to his side. “You’ll still be my second in command… You can have my bike, and while I’m gone you can be temporarily in charge.”

“Of the Grosvenor Gang?”

“Only until I come back,” Jim added sternly at the end, feeling it necessary to make his point clear.

Sebastian nodded nervously, and managed a weak smile.

“Consider it preparation for the army,” continued the smaller boy, taking note of Sebastian’s apparent joy. “If you’re going to reach a high rank then you need some experience first, especially if you want to be a good soldier.”

Jim picked up his slightly-darker hand, and admired it in his own. Sebastian’s hand was bigger than his, covered in an array of tiny brown freckles of all different shapes. His skin was rough, the only exception being the smooth, white line which cut across his palm, equal to the scar on Jim’s hand. Jim could tell Sebastian was sensitive about it, as when he tried to run his finger along it he immediately recoiled, and lowered his head in shame.

“What’s wrong with it?” Jim demanded.

“Everyone at school looks at it,” the blond revealed quietly, flexing the muscles in his wrist and fingers. “Two boys kept pointing at it when we were getting changed for PE.”

Jim huffed, and stroked his thumb gently across the scar, admiring the fact that it was no longer red but instead a delicate, pretty white from where it had healed. Because his skin was pale, Jim’s own scar seemed to blend in with the rest of his hand, but with Sebastian’s tanned skin it was far more obvious. Jim preferred it that way; it was a sign that Sebastian belonged to him, permanently engraved into palm for everybody to see.

“Well I like it and I think it’s pretty,” he announced, letting go of Sebastian’s hand so that he could curl back up against his flank. “You forget it’s what connects us, ‘Bastian. It’s important, it shows everybody that I own you.”

Sebastian, despite his reluctance, nodded obediently, and allowed Jim to cuddle against him. He resumed the motion of petting Jim’s hair again, while Jim stifled a feeble yawn and closed his eyes comfortably. Jim was the first to fall asleep, which Sebastian noticed when he heard the boy’s breathing pattern slow, and looked down to find Jim curled tightly with his lips parted in a protective ball against his side. Sebastian was the next to fall asleep; he’d wanted to stay awake, and savour his time with Jim as much as possible before it was time for him to leave, but in the end his tiredness had gotten the better of him, and he’d fallen asleep right by Jim’s side without a fight.

Kirstie must have arrived to call them down for dinner, but upon seeing that they were both asleep she’d decided not to wake them. Sebastian awoke first to find that the room was shrouded in darkness, blinking profusely as his eyes adjusted to the light; he looked expectantly down to his lap for Jim, only to realise that Jim had woken before him, and was perched precariously at the end of his bed toying with something in his hands. It must have been glass, as the glow from the street lamps outside was reflecting against it, casting down warm specs of orange which danced across the surface. Sebastian crawled closer to get a better look, the noise of which alerted Jim that he was awake.

“What is it?”

“A present from my social worker,” Jim placed whatever it was into Sebastian’s hand, as as he squinted in the darkness he was able to make out the shape of a snow globe, filled with dozens of little painted buildings. “You take it, it’s yours now.”

Sebastian frowned as he outstretched the snow globe in his hand, shaking it as the little drops of artificial snow cascaded down onto the cityscape below. The letters around the edge displayed the word ‘Westminster’ in bold red and blue letters, and instantly he smiled.

“It’s beautiful, thank you Jim.”

Jim acknowledged the thank you, and watched as Sebastian shook the snow globe up and down a couple more times. He waited until the blond had pocketed the present before crawling eagerly back onto his lap, and wrapping his arms around him to form a tight, almost suffocating hug.

“You won’t forget me, will you?” He whispered in Sebastian’s ear.

And so Sebastian hugged him back, even tighter than before. Being on both the rugby team and in the cadets had made him strong, and somewhere in his half-asleep daze he managed to mumble the words “ _don’t worry, I could never forget you_.” He blinked and looked down at Jim, who no longer resembled the fragile seven-year-old he’d first met on the corner of Grosvenor Street, the boy who’d demanded him to share his sweets and accused him of trespassing. He was older now, full of wisdom and danger like no other eleven-year-old he’d ever met. Jim’s hand brushed against his own, causing the scars on their palms to touch momentarily, before suddenly he leant towards him, and pressed his lips carefully against Sebastian’s ear.

“You’re a good boy, ‘Bastian,” he purred soothingly, his words trickling thickly like golden syrup into the blond’s eardrum. “And you’re always going to be mine.”


	36. The Headmistress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In London, Jim applies for a scholarship.

There was nothing exciting about the grammar school, only that it was much bigger than Jim had anticipated. Everyone he’d seen so far had been wearing large blazers, with red stripes running down the lapels and a school crest which depicted a lion, alongside knee-high socks and flashy red and gold ties. The fancy uniforms made his own hoodie and jeans look out of place, which he was uncomfortably aware of as he sat in the corridor, curled up on one of the plastic chairs outside the headmistress’ office. Kirstie was sat next to him, also looking noticeably uncoordinated in her knitted cardigan and flowery skirt; she seemed as equally nervous as he felt, which was strange considering she was an adult, and not the one applying for a scholarship.

It must have still been lesson time, as the corridor was oddly quiet; it was nothing like Jim’s old school, where there were always fights in the playground and the older boys would scribble rude words on the toilet doors. None of the passing students looked like they were the type of people to shout at one another; they all looked like future lawyers, and bankers, with upturned noses used for sniffing around the trust funds their parents had left for them. Every few minutes a teacher would walk past and look at them both, like they were strangers trespassing on foreign territory. Jim didn’t like being looked at, he thought it was insulting, and deeply moronic, but even he couldn’t muster the courage to glare back at them, especially not when they were older and richer than he could ever dare to dream of.

London was different to Dublin; it was always crowded, and noisy, and the people were nowhere near as friendly. The house they’d bought overlooked central Westminster, with two bedrooms and a garden overflowing with weeds, which Kirstie had promised to replace with new flowers and a vegetable patch in the upcoming Spring. Jim’s bedroom was indeed bigger than his old one, almost twice the size. On the first day they’d painted every wall a deep scarlet shade of red like he had insisted upon. It was as bright as he’d hoped, and on the second day his new bed arrived, as well as a desk and a bookshelf where he could stack all of his belongings in precise, alphabetical order.

As well as being big, Jim’s new bedroom also faced the rest of the city, with a direct view of the main road below. Sometimes in the morning he could see the commuters rushing to the tube station outside with their briefcases, or hear the furious horn-slams of the taxi drivers as they tried not to collide with the passing cyclists. Jim had wanted to try out his new bike, which he’d been gifted as a moving present, but Kirstie and Brian had both agreed that because of the heavy flow of traffic it was too dangerous, so instead he was given a weekly allowance of two pounds to spend on bus money whenever he wanted to go anywhere. So far he hadn’t used it; the nearest stop was a block away, outside a dingy-looking club where at night groups of men would gather by the entrance, smoking cigarettes and putting their arms around each other’s waists while loud music poured from inside. They were the type of people who would have been regarded as sinful back in Dublin; some dressed up as women, while others wore clothes that exposed their abs and biceps, like the pretty models Jim often gazed over in his magazines when nobody was watching. Only he’d never admit aloud that he found them attractive.

They were called into the headmistress’ office by a stout, thin-lipped receptionist wearing a tight pair of high heels that didn’t quite fit her feet. As she led them to the office, her heels clicked fiercely against the oak floor below, in a sharp, stabbing motion which made her feet appear uncomfortably squashed against the lining. They only had to knock twice before a voice came from inside and they were allowed to to enter; the office was a brightly-lit room, with a wooden desk in the centre and chairs either side. Sat on the opposing side of the desk was a woman in her mid fifties, with auburn hair cut to her shoulders and a pencil balanced between her fingers. There were two leather chairs which were empty in-front of her; Kirstie politely took the first, while Jim followed her a little more hesitantly and took the second. He’d hoped there might be a jar of biscuits on the headmistress’ desk, but there weren’t, only stacks of paperwork, and an apple which looked as though she’d been in the middle of eating.

“Good morning,” the headmistress greeted them both, in the same crisp English accent Jim had heard almost everybody in London talk in. “You must be James, young man, it’s nice to meet you.”

She outstretched her hand over the desk, and obediently Jim shook it.

“Am I correct in thinking this is your mother? I believe we’ve already spoken on the telephone.”

Jim wanted to correct her, by boldly stating that Kirstie was technically only his adoptive mother and not his real biological one, but from the corner of his eye he could see Kirstie waiting expectantly beside him with a pleasant smile, and so as not to upset her he merely nodded his head.

The headmistress clicked her tongue in apparent approval, and proceeded to shuffle the papers on her desk, bringing the largest folder to the front before opening it.

“I see you’ve already passed your eleven plus with flying colours… Full marks, very good.”

Jim nodded again, but this time it was with an air of pride. His eleven plus exam hadn’t been hard; he’d completed it in the school hall a few days prior with five other boys, two of whom had been caught cheating by the examiner and been subsequently disqualified. The exam was easy, his maths paper being the easiest; the time they’d been given was an hour and a half, but within thirty minutes he had already finished his last question and asked to leave early. He could have known without the headmistress telling him that he’d scored full marks, or at least that he’d done well, but the confirmation certainly boosted his smugness.

“I like maths,” he explained with growing confidence, now that the topic of his intelligence had been added to the discussion. “And science… but not as much as maths because I don’t like getting dirty.”

“Then how would you like to join our science club?” The headmistress asked, contemplating his answer. “It’s meant really for the older students, but judging by your exam results that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Will I get to do experiments?”

“Lots of them… Mister Chowdhry, the teacher who runs it, did an experiment last week involving Bunsen burners. Have you ever used a Bunsen burner before?”

Truthfully, Jim shook his head. He’d detested his old school because of how little science they’d done, and how the majority of time had been reserved for religion. At least at this school he wouldn’t have to spend an hour every morning listening to tedious stories from the Bible; the headmistress didn’t look very religious, judging by the lack of a cross around her neck, and everybody he’d seen in the corridor looked far too clever to believe in a false God.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” the older woman promised, with what Jim couldn’t tell was either an artificial or real smile, because it made her lips looked strained and unnatural. “In-fact it’s good that you’re so interested in maths and science… we specialise in academic subjects here, and we pride ourselves on producing some of the finest students in London. Many of our pupils have gone on to study at top universities - now I know it’s a little early for you to be thinking about such important matters, but I don’t doubt that with your intelligence one day you could be doing the same.”

Jim’s ears pricked at the mention of going to university, something which he didn’t consider to be intimidating in the slightest. If he wanted to go to university then he could easily, and if he applied for Oxford, or Cambridge, or even King’s College then there was no doubt he’d be offered a place. Currently he was interested in studying mathematics; he wasn’t sure what he’d do with a degree, but any job involving maths always paid well.

The headmistress continued with a few more questions, mostly with boring ones like what he wanted to be when he was older, and whether he was interested in any other subjects aside from maths and science, to which he’d lied and said he enjoyed history. She seemed pleased will all of the answers Jim had given, even smiling at the end and nodding enthusiastically when he’d mentioned the microscope he’d been received as a Christmas present. While he’d been talking, the headmistress had used the pencil in her hand to write notes, which Jim couldn’t see because they were blocked by the mountain of documents in-front of her. The only two words he’d been able to decipher were his own name, James Brook; but the combination of letters sounded wrong, as well as the way they flowed from the headmistress’ lips as she spoke them aloud, sharply pronouncing each and every syllable without her voice bouncing up and down in pitch like his sometimes did.

Despite almost a month having passed, Jim didn’t think he suited being a Brook very well. Sometimes, when he missed his old life in Dublin, he would cry secretly underneath the covers of his bed, pressing his face against his pillowcase so that neither Kirstie or Brian could hear him. It wasn’t that Kirstie and Brian were bad people, or that they treated him horribly; they were nice, despite the fact that they’d been too busy to take him to the Natural History Museum like they’d promised. If it wasn’t for Sebastian then Jim probably wouldn’t have missed his old life that much - London was definitely more exciting, but without his trusted second in command around there wasn’t much he could do. The sweets they sold in the newsagents in Westminster were more expensive than the ones in Dublin, even for a simple bag of fizzy cola bottles, and he couldn’t even get to sleep at night without the constant stream of traffic keeping him awake. Kirstie seemed to think that when he started school he’d make new friends, but Jim, unbeknownst to either one of his parents, had already vowed that he would never befriend anybody other than Sebastian, especially not any of the snobby, pig-faced boys he’d seen roaming the corridors.

Every Sunday evening, the telephone was reserved for Jim’s weekly phone call to Sebastian. It happened on the dot, exactly at six o’clock after Jim had eaten his dinner; he sat perched on the hallway floor with the handset adamantly glued to his ear while Sebastian told him all about his week - how many certificates he’d earned in cadets, and how well he was doing in all of his subjects. Jim listened each time as his chest swelled with pride, but only up until ten minutes when either Kirstie or Brian would appear from behind one of the doorways and lecture him for using up so much of the phone bill. At first Sebastian had been eager to ask Jim all about London, like what the weather was like and whether or not he’d met the Queen yet, but after a series of vague, clearly annoyed answers from Jim he’d soon stopped, and since then the conversation only ever revolved around the blond.

The headmistress, once satisfied with the page of notes she had accumulated, set down her pencil and smiled across the table at Jim, who hadn’t moved an inch since he’d first sat down and was starting to ache.

“May I speak to your mother for a few minutes, please? You can wait in the corridor until we’re finished.”

The headmistress still hadn’t told him if he’d been accepted yet or not which annoyed Jim greatly, although he wouldn’t show it in his face. He stood up and brushed away the creases that had formed in his jeans, before making his way to the door and closing it carefully behind him. It must have been lunchtime, as the previously-vacant corridor was now full of people, all swarming in a line in order to get to the canteen first. Jim stood and waited, almost scared that if he lost his footing he might be dragged into the sea of students too; some kept looking at him, and eyeing his grubby clothes with suspicious glares before moving on. Once the flood had cleared, Jim dragged himself to the same chair he’d sat on previously. He could hear his heart thumping heavily in his chest, over and over again in a frenzied, spiralling rhythm; in the office he hadn’t noticed it, but outside in the desolate hallway it was louder than ever, as if he was more nervous than he’d first realised.

Inside the office, the headmistress acknowledged Kirstie with a polite smile, whose hands were placed neatly upon the fabric of her flowery dress, resting on her lap.

“He’s a clever boy, your son,” she spoke sincerely, tapping towards the notes she’d written with her index finger. “…It’s not often we see children get full marks on their eleven plus exam. Those who do are often our most gifted students.”

Kirstie opened her mouth to agree, however before she could make her point the other woman’s lip twitched to indicate that she wasn’t yet finished.

“You’re a mathematician yourself, aren’t you?”

Her question came abruptly, and caused Kirstie to redden suddenly in the cheeks.

“Of sorts,” she barely managed to mumble without making herself look foolish. “I taught for many years in the mathematics department at the University College of Dublin. I suppose that only makes me a professor.”

“Ah yes, I remember reading it on your application,” the headmistress agreed, licking her lips. “Lucky James, it seems your genes have been passed down.”

Kirstie smiled solemnly, and shook her head.

“Jim isn’t my biological child,” she explained, looking momentarily to the door as if she was worried Jim might suddenly burst in, demanding to know what they were talking about. “I wish he was, but until recently he was only my husband and I’s foster child.”

“You foster?”

“Not anymore, not since coming to London,” Kirstie answered. “And not since taking on Jim.”

The headmistress pursed her lips, and picked up her pencil so that she could add a note underneath Jim’s name. For a moment Kirstie was worried she had said too much. She wasn’t an outgoing person, or anybody who talked a lot about her personal life; she could deliver lectures to dozens of university students without getting nervous, but that was because they were only interested in the maths she was teaching, and not the details of her normal, private life.

“Such a big move must be difficult for an eleven-year-old,” the headmistress mused earnestly, making yet another note on her paper. “How is James coping with it all?”

“Remarkably well.” Kirstie smiled, purposely not including the incident when she’d heard Jim crying in his bedroom, which she’d accidentally overheard while collecting the dirty laundry from the hallway a few days prior. Not wanting to interrupt, she’d stood briefly outside and listened, but alongside the sound of the washing machine it had been difficult to hear properly and so it might just have been her imagination.

The headmistress nodded, decided that the answer had satisfied her enough without the need to ask more.

“Excellent.”

She then closed her book of notes.

“I wouldn’t worry if I were you. James, is an intelligent little boy, he’ll make friends here in no time… It’s not often I hand out scholarships, usually they’re reserved for the older students going on to sixth form, but your son seems to have a lot of potential. He can start next week.”

The headmistress stopped upon hearing noise from outside, and turned to the door where underneath the gap a pair of battered trainers were perched on their tip-toes outside, struggling to maintain their balance. It wasn’t hard to tell that the culprit was Jim because of the silhouette that had been cast in the window, depicting a small boy with his head pressed determinedly against the door. Only Jim had such small hands, which were pressed against firmly the glass, leaving behind a misty residue, and was so eager to know the verdict that he couldn’t wait any longer. The headmistress, after tucking her hair behind her ears and flattening down the creases in her dress, walked calmly to the door and opened it.

“Come in, James.”

At once Jim came tumbling inside, having almost lost his balance. He quickly composed himself, and tried to disguise the fact that he’d been eavesdropping by returning to his seat beside Kirstie, sitting much more restlessly than before. As soon as he sat down his knees began to bounce up and down, and he was forced to sit on his hands so that they didn’t move too much in impatience. The atmosphere in the office had changed to an almost informal one, due to the fact that both the headmistress and Kirstie were smiling; the headmistress’ smile was mostly out of politeness, while on the other hand Kirstie’s was much wider and eager, which meant whatever it was must have been good news.

“Before I grant you a scholarship, there is just one thing I want to give you.”

It was the headmistress who spoke first, confirming what Jim had already suspected. Now that he’d gotten his scholarship he wanted to leave, but the older woman had opened a drawer of her desk, from which she retrieved a booklet. And with a firm hand she passed it over.

“This booklet contains everything you need… what uniform you’ll need for your first day, what textbooks and stationery you’ll have to buy. Only the upper years are required to wear gold and red ties, as you’ll be joining the lower school you’ll wear a plain red tie.”

She then started to talk about the school orchestra, and the many different sports teams they had to offer, by which point Jim had already stopped listening. He clasped the booklet firmly in his fist, and stood up at the same time the headmistress and Kirstie did, not wanting to appear out of place. The headmistress shook Kirstie’s hand first, before once again she reached for Jim’s; her hand was covered in an array smooth wrinkles, and on her finger sat an encrusted ring, which dug uncomfortably against Jim’s hand when he went to shake it. He was relieved when the handshake was over, and followed the older woman as she led them across to the door, before suddenly she stopped when it was his turn to leave.

“You’re going to like it here a lot, James.”

Jim spent the taxi ride home flipping through the booklet he’d been given, which caught the attention of Kirstie who was squeezed narrowly into the seat beside him.

“I don’t see how we’re going to afford all of this,” she admitted grimly, running a hand along her temple as she sighed. “We’ll have to get you fitted for a uniform, these blazers look like they’re going to be too big for you.”

Her gaze had fixated itself upon the list of uniform requirements, ranging from blazers, ties, and trousers, to sportswear and caps for the Summer term. The list was extensive, not to mention costly. There were harsh rules about what you could and couldn’t wear; all ties had to be fastened in a Windsor knot, and any shoes or socks other than the colour black were strictly prohibited, especially trainers. Jim scoured the booklet with unease, realising just how different his new grammar school was compared to the comfort of St. Matthew’s. On the back of the booklet was a passage of writing, resembling a motto, only he couldn’t read what it said because it was all in Latin.

“Are you going to give me a present for getting in?” Jim asked, feeling increasingly tense as he slammed shut the pamphlet, after deciding that trying to translate the Latin motto was too infuriating.

“A present? But you already have a new bike.”

Jim thought it was hardly a fair argument, especially since the streets were too busy for him to ride his bike anyway.

“A proper present,” he adamantly clarified. “Like a trip to the Natural History Museum.”

“James.” Kirstie only ever called him by his full name when he was in trouble. Jim could hear the disapproval in her tone and saw the redness in her face, like she’d already braced herself for the suggestion. “I’ve already told you we don’t have time to do that… I’m sorry, I know it’s boring but in a couple of weeks when everything is organised then I promise we can go to whatever museum you like. In the meantime why don’t you entertain yourself? The television will be arriving tomorrow, you can watch cartoons.”

Jim grunted and ignored what she said, pressing his cheek against the glass of the taxi window so that he didn’t have to look at her insufferable face any longer.

They went to collect Jim’s school uniform at the end of the week, which ended up taking a painfully long amount of time. It turned out Jim wasn’t very good at standing still; every time the shop assistant tried to wield her tape measure at him he would squirm away from her touch, or become so uncooperative that Kirstie had to repeatedly apologise on his behalf.

The smallest blazer they had to offer was still too big for Jim’s scrawny frame, like Kirstie’s prediction, which engulfed his arms and practically swamped his torso. Even the sleeves were so long that they swallowed his hands; the shop assistant had suggested rolling them up, but even then they kept falling back down again, and so in the end Jim gave up trying to fix them.

When he eventually looked at his reflection in the mirror, the raven-haired boy thought he looked stupid. He conveyed his annoyance by blowing a loud raspberry with his tongue, sending Kirstie into a horrified string of lecturing about how rudely he was behaving. After apologising to the shop assistant, again, each item of clothing was paid for on the till, and deposited neatly into multiple paper bags. Because of his misbehaviour, Jim was instructed by Kirstie to help carry one of the paper bags. It was the one containing his blazer and tie; he could tell because he could see the red fabric poking out from between the sea of black, as well as the roaring lion which had had been carefully embroidered onto the crest on his blazer pocket. The bags Kirstie was holding contained his trousers and socks, as well as his PE kit which consisted of an ugly, white polo shirt and black shorts.

Jim, although disgruntled from having to carry the bag, followed Kirstie obediently out of the shop once it was time to leave. Admittedly, the looming thought of starting school was making him nervous, not angry like he kept trying to pretend. Every time he thought about it it made him feel dizzy, and his heart plummeted from his chest like he was going to be sick.

“Kirstie?” Jim asked, as they stood on the roadside waiting for the bus.

“Hm?”

“Will people think I’m clever?”

“Of course they will,” Kirstie responded, seemingly taken aback by the question. “When you tell them all of the different science facts you know I’m sure everyone will want to be friends with you. You’ll have plenty in no time, and then once the chairs for the dining room have arrived you can invite them round for dinner.”

“I’m not talking about making friends,” Jim dismissed sternly. “I want to know if the people at my new school are going to be cleverer than me, so I can prepare myself in advance. If I start practicing different maths questions now then by the time I join I’ll be the smartest one there.”

Kirstie listened to what he had to say, however judging by the deep frown on her face she seemed more troubled than convinced.

“You know it’s not all about intelligence, Jim,” she said softly, turning her attention momentarily away from the road so that she could look at him. “You’ve got lots of other qualities too… You’re good at organising things, and you’re confident-"

“I’m only confident because everybody else is stupid.”

Jim scrunched up his brow, and pulled a face.

“You should look back at the road, otherwise you’ll miss the bus.”

With the bags still held firmly in her clasp, Kirstie returned her gaze to the busy road, where five cars and a motorbike were held up in traffic. According to the bus timetable the bus was supposed to have arrived a couple of minutes prior, which meant they’d either missed it or it was late. Kirstie spent most of the wait telling Jim about the all girls’ boarding house she’d grown up in, as well as the dormitory of other girls who she’d befriended; Jim had managed to block her voice out within the first sentence, nodding occasionally just to make it look as though he was listening. He didn’t care about the netball team Kirstie had been part of, especially when it didn’t help him at all. The story didn’t seem to have any other benefit than to pass the time, which meant it was long, and useless.

When Jim failed to answer the question she’d asked, Kirstie realised that the eleven-year-old hadn’t been paying attention, and quickly finished her story.

“I think there’s ice cream in the freezer,” she prompted. “Why don’t I make you a bowl when we get home?”

“What flavour?” Asked Jim suspiciously.  
  
“Rocky road, I bought it yesterday as a special treat while I was out shopping since I know it’s your favourite.”

“Not anymore.”

Kirstie couldn’t help but frown.

“What changed your mind?” She asked, her lips subsequently curling into a smile of curiosity.

“Because my tastebuds are refined now,” Jim clarified simply. “Anybody can see it, I’m not a little child anymore.”

The older woman nodded appeasingly, and bit down on her tongue to resist the urge to chuckle. Never before had she heard Jim reject the offer of chocolate, or anything remotely sweet, not apart from when he tried to act grown up in-front of other adults.

“Well, it’s in the freezer if you want it…” she stated with a firm smile, casting her gaze back out towards the road, where the traffic was slowly beginning to move again. “I’ll put some in your favourite bowl, just in case you decide you’re hungry.”

“My favourite bowl?”

Kirstie then reiterated, “the blue one in the cupboard, you always tell me it’s the only one you’ll eat from.”

Jim nodded, and decided that he was satisfied with the proposed arrangement.

“Okay,” he hummed, secretly pleased by the prospect of having ice cream, especially since he was never normally allowed dessert before dinnertime incase it spoiled his appetite. “But only as long as I can eat it in my room.”

“Why is that?” Kirstie asked.

“Because I was midway through an experiment before we left,” Jim explained nonchalantly. “…Testing things with my microscope. I need to finish it, otherwise it’s pointless.”


	37. Swimming Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim’s thirteenth birthday is overshadowed by the looming prospect of swimming lessons.

Being thirteen was annoying, especially when Jim’s thirteenth birthday coincided with the school’s annual swimming trip.

He only knew they were going swimming because he’d overheard Abraham and Stuart discussing it in the library, while he’d been busy revising for the biology test he had last lesson that day. PE as a whole was generally unbearable, but Jim deemed being dragged along in the school minibus to the local swimming baths every year to be borderline barbaric. The previous year he’d managed to wriggle his way out of it by feigning a temperature, so that Kirstie, feeling predictably sympathetic, had allowed him to spend the day at home. He’d spent it watching television in his pyjamas, pretending to be asleep when either one of his parents came to check on him, but this time around a brown envelope had entered through the letterbox at the same time as the morning newspaper. Whenever an envelope was stamped with the school crest in the corner it usually meant it was important, and so it had been impossible to stop Kirstie from mindlessly picking it up on her way to the kitchen, who’d opened it to Jim’s disdain while waiting for the kettle to boil with hot water.

“Swimming lessons?” The older woman asked, as she skimmed over the letter at the breakfast table. “But you can’t swim.”

“There’s no point,” explained Jim, picking apart the slice of toast he’d been scrupulously examining, with no intention of actually eating it. “I don’t need to learn to swim… We live in London, the only chance I’ve got of drowning is if I fall in the River Thames.”

He was currently in his second year of secondary school, a high-achieving grammar school for London’s most intelligent, only he hadn’t grown much aside from the pitiful few extra centimetres added on to his height, and the slightly-lower pitch he’d developed which removed the shrill squeakiness from his voice. He was still smaller on average than the people in all of his classes, which meant settling in had been more difficult than anticipated.

The boys from upper school in particular took great pleasure in making fun of him; they mimicked his accent, and regularly pinned him against the wall behind the stairwell during lunchtime so that they could punch and kick him, before stealing his tie and throwing it onto the roof where they knew he couldn’t reach it. They were all older and taller than him, mostly comprised of members from the cricket and hockey teams. One of the main perpetrators was a chestnut-haired boy called Adrian Powers, whose younger brother, Carl, was in the same science club that Jim attended every Wednesday after school. He didn’t know much about Carl, apart from that he was on the school swimming team, and that he had a select group of friends who all enjoyed making jokes about Mister Chowdhry, the science teacher, and laughing behind his back when he wasn’t looking.

“Besides there’s no point in learning how to swim because they wouldn’t let me drown anyway, otherwise the school would be liable and they’d have to go to court. There’s a book about the legal system in the library, I read it last term.”

“Well, we’ll have to get you some swimming briefs.” Kirstie furrowed her brow, contemplating the decision while she took a sip from her mug of tea, which had been sat on the table for the last five minutes and was probably growing cold.

Jim had seen her add two sugars to her mug of tea, like she did every morning when they all sat together at breakfast. Usually joining his parents at breakfast was something Jim tried to avoid at all costs by pretending he had unfinished homework he needed to complete, but although he rarely ate breakfast he did enjoy drinking tea, partly because it made him feel more grown up than he actually was. He asked Kirstie to make a cup for him every morning, with two sugars and sometimes an extra one if he managed to sneak it in without her seeing. He liked feeling grown up, which he did by browsing the more complex books in the adult section of the local library, and getting the train to school everyday using the Underground, alongside all the other commuters in their polished suits and ties.

“But it’s my birthday.”

“Which is still technically a weekday,” Kirstie insisted firmly. “I’m not letting you stay home from school just because you don’t want to go swimming. It’ll be good for you, you need to learn how to do it at some point in your life.”

She took another sip of tea, which thankfully meant she didn’t spot Jim as he pulled an incredulous face at her and poked out his tongue. Brian on the other hand was transfixed on the morning paper, as he grunted repeatedly while trying to solve the crossword on the fifth page.  
  
“Besides, it’ll be fun.”

When Kirstie lowered her mug, Jim recognised the hopeful glint twitching in her eyes; she always pestered him about friendships, in what she probably thought was a discreet way, but her subtleness was always easy to detect. It seemed no matter how many times he informed Kirstie that he didn’t need friends, she always piped in with her usual response that ‘ _everybody needs friends, it’ll be lonely otherwise_ ’. But Jim wasn’t lonely, not when he still had his weekly telephone calls with Sebastian. Getting picked on at school was just a minor inconvenience, but the boys from upper school would all be leaving the following year after their exams, so it hardly mattered.

“Not if I get hypothermia,” Jim muttered in response, earning a disapproving frown from the older woman, who hadalready finished her breakfast and had stood up to clear it away.

She beckoned Jim for his unfinished plate of toast, and he handed it over to her.

“Remind me to pack you an extra towel to keep you warm then,” she said as she loaded the dirty dishes into the sink, before tilting her head to look back at him. “Now, go and get dressed or you’ll miss your train.”

A gloomy bitterness hung over the air the following week on the morning of Jim’s thirteenth birthday, as he stood on the pavement with his duffel bag, waiting for the PE teacher to finish counting each of their heads so that they could board the minibus to the swimming baths.

It wasn’t his own bag, it was an old one he’d borrowed from Brian, which he’d used to cram his towel, briefs, and shampoo bottle inside of, as well as a fresh set of clothes he planned to change into for the train ride home. Jim was already looking forward to going home, where all of his presents and cards were sat waiting for him on the table; he was eager to see whether a card had arrived from Sebastian, who’d promised that he’d send something in the post to celebrate. For Sebastian’s birthday Jim had also sent him a card, along with a model warplane where the aim was to construct it yourself.

Jim knew he was getting a new chemistry set, because he’d seen the box hidden underneath the stairs before either of his parents had had a chance to wrap it. He’d asked for a new one because the beakers in his old set were chipped and stained from an experiment involving carboxylic acid, and the focus dials on his microscope were broken from where he’d tampered with them so much. The rest of his presents were probably self-explanatory; no doubt they’d be different books and magazines he’d requested over the year, and general miscellaneous socks and stationery from Kirstie and Brian’s extended family, who didn’t know him very well but felt obliged to give him a gift anyway.

While lining up, Jim couldn’t help but look at Carl, who was stood a few metres away from him with his own group of friends. Carl was nearly thirteen too, but his upright stature and broad shoulders made him look older than he actually was. He was carrying an expensive sports bag, probably the same one he used for his swimming tournaments judging by the fact that his name had been written neatly on the label, seemingly by his mother. Like Adrian, Carl also had reddish-brown hair which had started to curl at the ends like it was in need of a cut, and when he laughed at the jokes his friends were telling it sounded snide and pompous, causing the hairs on the back of Jim’s neck to prickle with discomfort.

The swimming baths were a twenty minute drive away, in the heart of central Westminster. Jim didn’t speak for the entire bus ride; he was too busy staring out of the window at each of the lifeless grey buildings as they flew by, from banks to towering business offices. They passed the Houses of Parliament, where a flock of politicians were gathered outside, probably waiting to vote on some new proposal, most of whom were dressed in polished suits and glasses that squashed their faces. A couple of boys in the row behind him made rude gestures at them with their hands, but after being caught by the PE teacher they were subsequently shouted at, and so the rest of the journey was completed in cautious whispering.

Upon entering the baths, which were about as noisy and dirty as Jim had envisioned, they were split into two groups. The first group were led to the viewing balcony to watch for the first half of the lesson, while the second group were ushered into the changing rooms to get dressed. To his distaste, Jim found himself placed into the second group alongside Carl, as well as five other boys whom he didn’t know the names of.

There were only two cubicles, which were snatched up almost immediately, meaning instead Jim found himself trapped in the communal changing area. He placed his duffel bag down onto the only spot which hadn’t been taken, and cautiously began to peel off his shirt and trousers. He took off his shirt first, wincing a little when the cold air pierced his skin, but when it came to his trousers he was more reluctant. He noticed with jealousy how the other boys had all already taken off their own trousers, seemingly without a care in the world; they were wearing different-coloured swimming shorts, some red, some blue, and the longer he looked, the harder Jim found it to look away.

“Why are you looking at me like that, queer?”

In a startled panic Jim blinked, and tried to locate the voice.

He spotted the expensive sports bag first, before recognising Carl’s name written upon the label. When he looked up Carl was stood a few metres away, dressed in his own shorts, a towel draped over both of his shoulders and a stony expression plastered across his pale face. The confrontation had caught the attention of the rest of the group, who all looked up to try and see who Carl was talking to. When they realised it was Jim, a couple of boys grinned stupidly, and looked at Carl like they were desperate for him to start a fight.

“I wasn’t.”

“ _I wasn’t_ ,” Carl mimicked, like when he sometimes mimicked Mister Chowdhury’s heavy Indian accent, but this time it was shrill and Irish.

Jim’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, and the other boys all laughed. Amongst them he could hear Carl’s laugh, which was perhaps the loudest of them all; it was jeering and ugly, and when he opened his mouth Jim could see the shiny reflection of his metal braces, which covered both his top and bottom teeth.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to come swimming, not here with us,” the other boy continued, his head held high and proud as if he was somehow better than him. “Everybody knows what you are… You probably touched loads of boys back at your old school. It’s disgusting, that’s what my mother says… I bet you watched us while we took our underwear off.”

“I never!”

Jim could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and his head spinning dizzily like he was going to be sick. He knew his face had gone red, because he could feel the hotness of his cheeks as the redness engulfed his skin, and when he briefly looked down he could see the tips of his fingers quivering from where they were clutching to his towel, the blue stripy one Kirstie had packed for him before he’d left for school that morning. For the most-part his dark eyes remained fixed to Carl, whose grin was still dripping with thick smugness and an equal level of disgust.

Carl Powers was laughing at him, and Jim didn’t like it.

He wanted him to go away.

He was going to _make_ him go away.

“Well it’s wrong,” Carl stated, tugging off the towel from around his shoulders and shooting Jim a final glare before he made his way to the pool entrance. “Boys shouldn’t like other boys, or are you a freak?”

Jim watched as Carl disappeared through the archway towards the poolside, followed in-tow by the rest of the boys in the group; some were chatting like nothing had happened, while others kept trying to glance discreetly back at Jim, almost like they were attempting to catch one final glimpse of his expression before vanishing into the chlorine-filled chasm.

When all the other boys were gone, Jim concealed himself in one of the empty cubicles, where the towel and duffel bag belonging to a boy named Mark had been dumped carelessly on the bench. He crouched down onto the floor and began to whimper, very quietly at first in case anybody was still lurking outside, before eventually he began to cry. The tears were difficult to control; they were hot and incessant, and left behind a burning sting as they prickled down his cheeks before dribbling off the end of his chin and onto the floor. A couple of times Jim attempted to wipe them away, but each time they fell harder and faster, until his throat became so hoarse and scratchy that it was impossible to continue.

Out on the poolside a man with a deep voice was bellowing instructions at the top of his voice, which meant the swimming lesson must have already commenced. Disguised by the sounds of shouting and splashing water, Jim carefully unbolted the door of the cubicle, and checked to make sure that the changing room was empty before stepping out. It wasn’t until he reached the mirror that he realised how extensively he’d been crying; his cheeks were blotched and puffy, the same as his eyes which had become swollen and bloodshot. It took several attempts to get rid of the redness from his face; the running water from the tap was cold and uncomfortable, and each time Jim splashed it upon his face he winced painfully with discomfort. His skin, which he often liked to consider as delicate, didn’t take kindly to the sink tap, and the more water he applied the more excruciatingly it ached.

After drying his face with his towel, Jim caught sight of Carl’s sports bag. It had been discarded in one of the locker compartments, which unlike the rest of the boys Carl had forgotten to close. His bag was noticeably grander than everybody else’s, and looked like he’d bought it recently for a tournament or competition; the zips and strings were all still perfectly in-tact, and the logo emblazoned across the side wasn’t scratched or faded in the slightest, which was strange considering how dirty the changing room was.

If it wasn’t Carl then maybe Jim would have felt bad about snooping through somebody else’s belongings, but when he approached the zip was already partially open, and with one forceful tug the entire bag seemed to unravel. Inside was just as pristine as the outside, where everything had been folded and stacked neatly on top of one another, including Carl’s clothes which were all piled in coordination with each-other.

On top of everything was a pair of shoes, trainers to be exact.

Like the sports bag, Carl’s name was also written on the inside of his trainers, only this time it had been written in felt-tip, and the writing matched Carl’s own meticulous, careful handwriting.Jim noted how there were two blue stripes along the side, both parallel to one another, and how the laces looked different to the rest of the shoes, as if they were only a recent addition. It would make sense, especially as the shoelace hole was slightly battered, as if the laces had been changed numerous times before.

Jim wanted to pick up the trainers to inspect them further, but when he reached forward something else caught his eye. It was a tub, which was ordinary in itself, until Jim picked it up in his hand and examined the label: eczema cream - and a strong dosage too. He toyed with it for a few moments, before deciding to read the chemical ingredients listed on the back. A few of them he recognised from his extensive knowledge of chemistry, like glycerin and citric acid, while others he had never seen before, the ones with the longer and more complicated names.

To see if it was true, Jim unscrewed the lid and peered inside, frowning at the thick white paste that greeted him.

He had to quickly put it away again, as the moment he tried to scoop up a lump of cream with his finger he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the entrance, heavier than any belonging to the boys in his group. To Jim’s dismay he realised the footsteps belonged to the PE teacher, a middle-aged man with a stocky frame and a whistle dangling from his neck, who folded his arms in a less-than-impressed manner as he came to a halt in the entrance.

“Poolside, Brook… you’ve missed the warm-up but you can still join in with the other boys.”

In the end it wasn’t like Jim had a choice, especially not with a man who was infamously rumoured to have punched a student on the hockey team the previous year after they’d lost in the finals. He was marched rigidly out of the changing rooms towards the poolside, only for the PE teacher to blow his whistle immediately upon spotting two boys messing around in the water before marching over to tell them off.

The pool was deeper than Jim had envisioned it to be; there were four lanes in total, as distinguished by the white pool markings on the floor, and a large sign on the wall which strictly stated ‘NO DIVING’. Jim apprehensively crept his way to the edge of the water, catching sight of his scrawny reflection as it bubbled on top of the surface. Not only was the pool itself like a bottomless abyss, but the moment his feet touched the edge he was suddenly engulfed by a strong wave of chlorine, which burned through his nostrils and caused his noise to twist in pain.

It wasn’t just that the water looked uninviting, but it was the fact that all of the other boys were carelessly swimming back and forth across the lanes, with enough confidence as if they knew they wouldn’t drown. Carl in particular looked especially smug, which made sense considering all of the praise he was receiving from the PE teacher, who he’d evidently impressed as he completed his fourth and final lap.

When it was Jim’s turn to enter the pool, he crouched down apprehensively by the side, before slowly dipping the tips of his toes into the water to check the temperature. He didn’t want anybody knowing that nervous, or that he couldn’t swim, which would have inevitably made him more of a target than he already was. As expected, the water was freezing cold; there was no shallow end, or even a ladder which he could cling on to since it was currently occupied by one of the other boys. Surely there had to be a methodical way in which he could enter the water, one which would cause the least amount of splashing, and receive the most minimal amount of attention; Jim was getting ready to lower himself gradually into the water when he heard a brief sequence of whispering from behind him, and with a forceful shove he was suddenly pushed off the edge and into the pool.

In less than a second he was completely submerged, flailing his arms desperately around as he struggled to resurface. He’d never been inside of a pool before, mainly because the thought of drowning had always frightened him, which now seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation.

It felt like the body of water had wrapped itself around his bare chest, and was trying to weigh him down like a heavy anchor pulling him into the depths. Jim tried to open his mouth, but when he did it flooded with an onslaught of water, causing him to cough and splutter violently as he shot back up to the surface, clumsily grappling for the side of the pool so that he had something to hold on to. His entire chest felt as though it was on fire as he hunched over, his hair dripping wet and reeking of chlorine.

To keep himself afloat Jim paddled hopelessly with his legs, while his fingernails dug into the side of the pool with as much strength as he could possibly muster.

He realised to his embarrassment that it had been two boys who’d pushed him, both stood a couple of metres away in an effort to look inconspicuous. He recognised them as two of Carl’s friends, who hadn’t actually played a part in the cruel prank, but was grinning from the other end of the pool to convey his approval.

Jim’s legs were growing tired from how much effort it was taking to keep himself afloat, which was why he didn’t argue when the PE teacher dragged him swiftly from the pool as he continued to cough and splutter, and ordered him in a gruff tone to go and get dressed instead of causing anymore disruption.

The rest of the lesson was spent in humiliating solitude, on a bench in the changing rooms wrapped tightly in a towel.

The towel was merely for added comfort; he’d changed back into his clothes the very moment he’d entered the changing room, before shoving his swimming briefs into the bottom of his duffel bag where he’d hopefully never have to see them again. The raven-haired boy couldn’t stomach the thought of wearing them any longer; they were tight and uncomfortable, and he hated the prospect of everybody seeing his childlike body. He wanted broad shoulders, or a torso he could proudly parade everywhere like the other boys, not a stick-like figure which made him feel ashamed of how he looked.

It was another half an hour before the whistle-blast from outside signalled that the lesson was over, accompanied by five or so boys bickering about where they’d left their towels as they made their exhausted return to the changing room. Carl was the last to enter; this time he also was wrapped in a chlorine-scented towel, and his wet hair had been pushed back against his head to keep the water out of his face. He wasn’t out of breath, like some of the other less-athletic boys were, however Jim couldn’t help but notice his arm, which he was frustratedly scratching at with his fingernails.

“Does it hurt, Carl?”

“Not much,” sounded Carl’s voice, as his footsteps came to a halt and he stopped in-front of his locker.

Jim listened as he began to rummage around his sports bag, shuffling through the pile of clothes he’d neatly arranged before locating his tub of eczema cream and unscrewing the lid.

“The chlorine in the water just irritates it… The doctor said I should stop swimming otherwise it’ll get worse, but I told him I’ve got a tournament soon, I can’t afford to stop now.”

For the first time ever, Jim saw the extent of the swimmer’s eczema. The entirety of his upper arm, which he was still scratching furiously at, was covered in red, peeling skin, some flakes of which had started to crumble away. It looked sore, and even the sight of the blisters was enough to make Jim feel queasy. He couldn’t understand why, if the pool chlorine was making his eczema worse, Carl would continue to swim, especially when he was in clear discomfort, even after tugging on his shirt and rolling down his sleeves to try and hide it.

He dusted a few of the dry flakes away before adjusting his trousers, and turning to find Jim still staring at him curiously.

“Did you like our game?” Carl asked, erupting into an amused grin. “It was only a joke, none of us meant to hurt you… Sorry, we didn’t know you can’t swim.”

It was hard to believe anything that came from Carl’s lips when he was still smiling, a smile that could have easily transformed into another laugh if it wasn’t for the pain his eczema was causing him. Jim could see very faintly that the tips of Carl’s fingers were twitching, as if he wanted nothing more than to roll up his sleeve and continue scratching at his irritated skin.

“My brother, Adrian, was right about you,” Carl then continued, grabbing his sports bag from his locker and slinging it over his shoulder. “You’re a freak, James. That’s what we all think of you… now piss off before we tell Mister Collins you’ve been watching us while we get undressed.”

When Jim returned home that evening he raced straight upstairs to his bedroom, ignoring the pile of birthday presents awaiting him on the kitchen table.

As soon as he’d passed the metal threshold of his bedroom he slammed the door shut and locked it, and collapsed instantly onto his bed so that his face was pressed firmly against the duvet cover.

He could hear Kirstie, who had entered the hallway to see what all the commotion was about, call his name from downstairs, but with no energy to answer her Jim promptly ignored her. Instead, he clenched his eyes forcibly shut and emitted a frustrated groan, loud enough that a few moments later the sound of footsteps came hurrying up the staircase. He knew it was Kirstie because she made no attempt to be graceful, and within mere seconds she was already poised outside of his door, knocking worriedly on the oak panels to try and get him to open up.

“Jim?” Came her muffled voice from outside. “Why don’t you come downstairs and open your presents?”

But Jim didn’t reply, not until he’d lifted his head unwillingly from the bedsheets, and shot a furious glare towards the door where he could see the shadows of Kirstie’s legs dancing around fretfully.

“Don’t wanna open them… leave me alone,” he demanded, in a voice that was nothing more than an irritated growl.

When the knocking outside abruptly stopped, Jim assumed it was because Kirstie was bemused by his response. She’d been sat opposite him that morning when he’d been eagerly eyeing up all of his presents, trying to guess by shaking them up and down what each of them could be. Of course he already knew what half of them were, it was easy to deduce by the size of the box, but it was much harder to guess with the presents that had been so tightly wrapped that they mainly consisted of tissue paper.

Jim could still make out Kirstie’s shadow outside, stood in the very same spot as when she’d first approached. He heard her attempting to twist the door handle, at least three times judging by the noise of the rattle, but she must have realised that Jim had locked it as she eventually stopped trying. That was one of Jim’s favourite things about living in London - the fact that his bedroom door had a lock on it. It meant whenever he wanted privacy all he had to do was simply turn the key, and with that he was free to do whatever he pleased.

But despite what Jim considered to be a masterful plan, it seemed not even a locked door could deter Kirstie, who was still hovering outside like an irritating pest.

If she was a fly, Jim would have swatted her.

“How was your swimming lesson?”

“Dull,” Jim grunted scornfully in return. “Now will you leave me alone? I’ve got homework to do, and your voice is annoying me.”

Kirstie sighed, and after a brief moment of hesitation she crouched down and pushed what looked to be an envelope under the gap in the doorway.

She said very little after that, only that if he wanted dinner then it was going to be ready at six (spaghetti hoops on toast, his newly-declared favourite), otherwise she’d leave a plate outside of his door for when he was hungry. When Kirstie left her footsteps sounded more defeated than before, and this time she seemed slow, as if parts of her old age were finally catching up to her.

When Jim stood up to inspect what the envelope was he was heavily skeptical at first, until he realised it was a birthday card, with a picture of a balloon on the front and a passage inside which read:

‘ _Dear Jim,_

_Happy thirteenth birthday._

_You’re now a teenager as well, which means when you come back to Ireland one day we can celebrate together. I used my pocket money to buy you a rocket ship (not a real one obviously, its a toy) but it comes with stickers which you can stick on the side to make it look like the actual ones they send to the moon. Dad sends his love, he says this card should arrive in time for your birthday and that he hopes you’re doing well. I hope you’re doing well too, and I miss you. It’s boring without you here. I can’t wait to see you in the Summer if you’re allowed to visit. Then I can give you your bike back (thanks for letting me borrow it, sorry I scratched it a little)._

_With much love,_

_from your friend Sebastian Moran._ ’

There were too small kisses at the end, and a drawing of a space-ship which looked like Sebastian had drawn it himself. The whole card was covered in stars, and as Jim skimmed across the writing he noticed how very carefully each letter had been scribed, to make them appear as tidy and perfect as possible. Sebastian’s writing had improved a lot since Jim had last seen it; it was still a little clumsy in places, especially when he tried to join up his letters, but for the most part it was neat, and so tiny that it looked like an ant had written it.

‘Happy thirteenth birthday’.

Jim took one look at the card, before tossing it carelessly onto his desk, and crawling back into bed.

If he’d had even the slightest ounce more of energy then maybe he would have cried, or torn the card up into a million pieces just to prove to everybody that he no longer cared about anything, even despite the kisses Sebastian had added at the end. But all he could utter was a faint whimper, as he collapsed against the covers of his bed and curled himself up into a protective cocoon. His head was throbbing and he could still smell the scent of chlorine on his clothes, enough that he was starting to feel sick, but amidst all of the numbness he felt it was impossible to ignore the urges that were starting to gnaw at the tip of his conscience. All of a sudden he had the urge to do something bad, immoral even; something that would get rid of Carl Powers and his stupid laugh once and for all.

Jim was only thirteen years old, but his mind was already more dangerous than ever.


	38. Bullying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Carl Powers begins to interfere with his life at school, Jim decides to form a plan to get rid of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - brief use of homophobic language and mentions of self harm

Carl Powers was from Brighton, which Jim knew only because he’d eavesdropped on one of his conversations while they’d been conducting an electromagnetic experiment in science club. Apparently he and the rest of his family were due to move back there in a few weeks, after Carl had finished his current swimming tournament, which was apparently being held in St. Martha’s Lido in Chelsea. He was swimming in the under-14s category, having already made it to the finals, with the promise of joining a specialised Olympics sports programme if he won.

Since the trip to the swimming baths it felt like Carl Powers was suddenly everywhere Jim looked, especially when the bullying started.

The first incident had taken place a week after Jim’s thirteenth birthday, on Monday afternoon at lunchtime. Jim never ate the lunch that was packed for him each day in his lunchbox, nor did he like the meals they served in the canteen, which despite the school’s impressive budget were always soggy and shared the same consistency as wet cement. Instead he spent most of his lunchtimes in the boy’s toilets, hidden in one of the cubicles until the tedious hour ended and he was allowed to go to his maths lesson. Sometimes he passed the time by reading a book; currently he was reading one about particulate matter, which although enjoyable was often interrupted by the sound of boys coming in to wash their hands or smoke cigarettes in secret without the teachers seeing, which often left the whole bathroom stinking of nicotine after they left.

Mondays were Jim’s least favourite day, not just because he had a double lesson of Religious Studies in the morning, but because that week his favourite teacher, Mister Chowdhry, was off sick with the flu. To Jim’s disdain he’d walked into his science lesson that morning to find an old, tight-lipped woman in Mister Chowdhry’s place, who it seemed knew nothing at all about the chemistry they were supposed to be learning. Instead of conducting an experiment like he’d spent the weekend eagerly anticipating, they spent the entirety of the lesson copying sentences from a textbook, while their supply teacher droned on about simple and moronic equations he already knew.

An hour later Jim found himself sat in the same cubicle he always spent his lunchtimes in, watching as a thick cloud of smoke formed underneath the door from the cigarettes the fourth years were smoking outside. He often criticised the smell, and the fact that cigarettes caused cancer, but secretly Jim wondered how it might feel if he were to smoke too. Of course he didn’t want the tar to build up in his throat, or for his teeth to turn horrid and yellow; both of his parents had warned him about the dangers of smoking, however sometimes he couldn’t help but be curious.

When the thicket of smoke dissipated Jim realised that the forth years must have left, and instead three more boys entered the bathroom, discussing the maths test they were preparing to sit next lesson. He recognised one of the voices as Carl’s, who spoke in a slightly softer accent than the rest of his friends, and sometimes struggled to fully pronounce his words because of the braces he wore on his teeth. Through the gap in the cubicle door Jim could vaguely make out three pairs of shoes, including Carl’s signature trainers which only confirmed the fact that it was him. He edged closer to try and hear what they were saying, and leant his ear towards the door.

“I’m the smartest in my maths class,” he heard Carl say above the sound of running water from the tap. “Or I would be if he wasn’t for James… I think he cheats on the tests, nobody can get full marks every single time it isn’t possible.”

There came a collective murmur of agreement from the two other boys, before the conversation swiftly changed to a different subject.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m going back home in two weeks anyway.”

“To Brighton?”

“I only came here because I needed somewhere to learn whilst I compete. My brother and I got scholarships for the year,” agreed Carl flippantly, if not a little arrogantly. “Mum doesn’t like London, she says it’s too crowded… Besides, I won’t need school anymore if I get accepted into the swimming programme I’ve applied for, then all I’ll have to worry about is sports, not English and maths.”

It was difficult to hear the conversation properly over the sound of the running taps, so carefully Jim moved his feet forward and pushed his head even closer towards the door, still distanced enough so that he wasn’t really touching it (as to avoid becoming riddled germs). His shoes must have been visible underneath the gap in the cubicle however as the voices soon stopped, and suddenly somebody began to hammer against the other side of the door.

“We know you’re spying on us, James!”

When the door opened, Jim found himself being dragged out of the cubicle by the scruff of his blazer, so abruptly that he dropped his book about particulate matter and didn’t have time to pick it back up. One of Carl’s taller friends, with blonde hair and a stubby nose, pinned his arms against his back, so forcefully that even when he tried to squirm and kick he couldn’t escape. He was like a different version of Sebastian, with the same dirty blond hair but with a different shaped face, and without Sebastian’s attentive blue eyes.

Jim cried out in pain as he was slammed against the wall, while from the corner of his eye he could see the book he’d been reading crumpled on the floor. It had narrowly missed landing in a puddle, which meant even though the spine had cracked the pages were still relatively in-tact; the thought of his book being dirtied by all of the germs and stains on the floor made Jim shiver in disgust, but before he had a chance to rescue it Carl had already made his way into the cubicle and picked it up precariously by the cover.

“Is this yours?”

“Don’t hold it like that, you’ll ruin it-“ Jim tried to shout, before Carl’s friend twisted his arm painfully behind his back and he broke into a whimper.

He could barely see what Carl was doing, apart from that he was smiling and flipping carelessly through the pages of the book like none of the words meant anything. Jim heard him mumble the words ‘ _particle matter_ ’ faintly under his breath, and wanted to correct him that the book was actually about _particulate_ matter, but the second of Carl’s friends had him held in a headlock so that he couldn’t move.

It was when Carl began ripping the pages out of his book one by one that Jim started to shout and squirm, and when the champion swimmer proceeded to scrunch them up and flush them down the toilet as if they were nothing but cheap toilet paper. He could feel his chest becoming tighter, either because he was panicking or because of how forcefully he was being restrained by Carl’s friends, to the point where he could barely breathe anymore without gasping. His head was whirring dizzily, and when he tried to look around all he could see were spots and hazy shapes where Carl and his friends were stood.

He was so dazed that he hardly even noticed the bell as it rang to signal the end of lunchtime; it was only then that Jim felt himself becoming suddenly loose, and when he blinked he looked up to find that Carl and his friends had made a beeline straight for the bathroom door. When Jim turned his attention to the open door of the cubicle he realised that half the pages of his book were missing, and those that were left had been ripped and scattered neglectfully across the puddle-soaked ground, damaged beyond repair. He tried to pick one up but it was practically glued to puddle it was lying in, and with a wince he quickly retracted his hand and wiped it against his trouser leg.

Jim didn’t go to his maths lesson that afternoon, despite the fact that he knew he had a test on quadratics which he’d been revising for all weekend. Instead he stayed in the bathroom, where he vomited twice into the sink.

After staring at the mess for a horrified few seconds he quickly turned on the taps, and allowed them to run for a couple of minutes until all the sick had vanished from the basin. Jim scooped up a cupful of water, which he then splashed over his face, and after vigorously scrubbing around his mouth with soap he proceeded to rub it against his tongue, just to be certain that there were no more germs left. The soap tasted acidic and bitter, and looked like it had been cheaply bought using the school’s budget. It took Jim a few attempts to wash his mouth out properly, each time the foul taste and smell causing him to gag, before finally he turned off the taps and sank against the wall in exhausted despair, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs as he cried.

For the following weeks, the bullying continued just like that.

Often Carl and his friends would find him in the toilets, or seek him out in the corridor between lessons to trip him up or flick pieces of chewing gum in his hair. Because Mister Chowdhury was at home with the flu it meant that for the first two weeks of term the school’s science club, which met every Wednesday afternoon, was left unsupervised; a supply teacher was supposed to have taken over, but after failing to show up both times it meant the club had been a riot, and Carl, who was usually fairly quiet under Mister Chowdhry’s watchful gaze, had taunted Jim relentlessly with all different types of insults with nobody to stop him.

Carl’s taunts normally revolved around either one of two things; either he was making fun of Jim’s Irish accent, which he seemed to do whenever the raven-haired boy so much as opened his mouth, or he would call him derogatory names like ‘ _poof_ ’ or ‘ _queer_ ’. Jim had no trouble ignoring the comments Carl made about Ireland, which were never anything worse than Carl mimicking his pronunciation of certain words, however the latter always left him feeling some type of sickness, and a sense of shameful anger which hung over his head like a dark cloud.

He didn’t tell anybody about what was happening. Each day when he returned home from school he merely marched upstairs to his bedroom without greeting either one of his parents first, or hid in the bathroom for hours at a time with the excuse that he was having a bath, even though the bathroom taps were never running and his hair was never wet. There were new marks on his arms now, ones from where he’d gotten so frustrated that he’d cut his skin with the penknife he kept in the top drawer of his desk. They were neat, orderly cuts, which trickled occasionally with blood; sometimes if Jim cut too deeply then they would sting, but he liked the pain, so often he found himself doing it before he went downstairs for dinner each night, making sure to wear a long-sleeved shirt to disguise what over the course of two weeks had faded into subtle scars.

It was like a release of energy, the same as the core in the centre of a star exploding into a vast flash of helium. Something about inflicting pain upon himself felt electric, and Jim couldn’t help but wonder if doing the same to another person would feel just as exciting.

He spent every waking moment planning, whether it was in his bedroom with the door locked, or hidden behind one of the walls of the school playing field with his notebook propped against the grass.

His notebook was overflowing with inscriptions, as well as equations and diagrams he’d labelled in detail with his pencil. Since his thirteenth birthday Jim had been formulating the same plan; it involved Carl’s eczema cream, the same one he’d studied meticulously in the changing room of the swimming baths. Most importantly it was a strong dosage, which meant it would be impossible to detect if another chemical had been introduced into the mixture. In-fact it was easy for anything to be absorbed into the cream as long as he used the right measurements, the only difficult part was deciding what type of chemical to use.

Jim first learnt about Botulinum Toxin in the following week’s chemistry lesson, when he was sent to the store cupboard to collect equipment for a practical demonstration Mister Chowdhry wanted to show them.

The store cupboard was located at the end of the science block; it was a small, metal cupboard, which had to be unlocked using a special key to prevent anybody from stealing from it. Jim had already been given the key by Mister Chowdhry, who had instructed him to collect a couple of beakers and a bottle of nitric acid so that they could begin the class demonstration, which that day involved mixing nitric acid with copper to observe a reaction. Jim always offered to go to the store cupboard at the start of each lesson, even if they weren’t doing an experiment; not only did he like the responsibility of getting to pick out all of the different bottles, but because he was so enthusiastic towards science Mister Chowdhry never said no to his requests, especially when he offered to stay behind during break to clean up.

Jim found the beakers fairly quickly, but after browsing the cupboard for a few minutes in search of nitric acid he decided to do something he’d never done before, and rummage around the shelf of strictly forbidden chemicals in hopes that he might find it there. The chemicals that students weren’t allowed to use tended to be the most corrosive and poisonous ones, and it came as no surprise to anyone that they were strictly out of bounds for practical use. If caught, Jim knew he would be expelled, so after looking around to make sure that nobody was watching he quickly dove his hand into the collection of chemicals, and pulled out the first bottle he could see.

It was labelled ‘ _Botulinum Toxin_ ’ in capital letters, as well as in red ink as if to ward away anybody who might be tempted to touch it. Upon inspecting the bottle in his hand Jim noticed the many safety warnings attached to it, and the sticker on the back instructing that the bottle should never leave the storage cupboard without permission. With a complacent hum, Jim secretly pocketed the bottle of Botulinum Toxin, and after collecting the rest of the equipment he made his way back to the science lab where Mister Chowdhry was trying to control the rest of the rowdy second years.

When he got home from school, after a gruelling afternoon of English and double PE, Jim raced immediately upstairs to his bedroom, ignoring the plate of beef and potatoes that was waiting for him on the kitchen table. He hastily locked his door, before crashing down at his desk and scavenging around for his nearest chemistry book. The first textbook he found was perhaps the oldest one he owned; he’d used it so much that the cover was beginning to fall apart, and the spaces between each page were ladened heavily with post-it notes, each filled to the brim with an abundance of writing and calculations. After skimming through the textbook and finding the page he was looking for, Jim placed it momentarily to the side and reached into his pocket, where he swiftly retrieved the bottle of Botulinum Toxin he’d been hiding all day.

The page of the textbook he had open was one he rarely often looked at; it was a section all about poisons, ranging from the least effective to the most lethal. Jim scoured the block of text for five minutes until he found the words Botulinum Toxin, which he circled eagerly with his pencil before continuing to read.

‘ _One single nanogram of Botulinum Toxin can kill a human being_.’

Each page he flipped across revealed something new, something exciting which Jim couldn’t help but make a note of. Botulinum Toxin was a lethal drug, the kind that could paralyse a human being just from a single drop; if he was to use it on Carl Powers then he would easily die in a matter of hours, though not without being in excruciating pain first.

When Jim heard Brian calling him downstairs for dinner he chose to ignore him, and continued to focus on the words he had highlighted with his pencil. They were all words which filled him with a giddy rush of adrenaline, especially ‘gradual death’, which he had circled so many times to the extent where his pencil was almost completely blunt. The thought of murdering Carl Powers was enough to make Jim forget all about his dinner, and instead it helped him to concentrate on the notes he was making, which consisted of how much Botulinum he was going to need and how he was going to extract it. He already had the equipment, including the beaker and pipette he’d gotten as part of the science kit he’d received on his birthday, and an empty space in his backpack where he could conceal the poison until it was time to use it.

After finishing his calculations Jim picked up the bottle of poison from the side, and smiled apprehensively at his reflection on the glass surface.

“One nanogram,” he whispered, biting down upon his bottom lip in concentration. “That’s all.”

When Carl approached him outside the bike sheds at school the next day, Jim had already finished formulating the plan inside his head.

“Been busy having sex with your boyfriend, queer?” Carl asked, whose sports bag was draped over his shoulder as though he’d just returned from swimming practice.

Jim could smell the sickly scent of chlorine in his hair, and turned to meet his gaze.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” he replied truthfully. “Not yet anyway. None of the boys in this school are very attractive.”

Carl then laughed, however it was more of a sneering laugh than one containing any actual amusement.

“You should see the boys I swim against,” Carl commented. “…Broad shoulders, big muscles, isn’t that the type of thing you freaks like? There’ll be plenty of them at my swimming competition next Saturday.”

“You’re going to a swimming competition?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just curious.” Jim shrugged his shoulders, and looked momentarily to the label written on Carl’s sports bag with his name on it. “Where is it?”

“St. Martha’s Lido,” explained Carl, still smiling. “I thought you would have seen the posters in the corridor. I’m going to the Olympics.”

“But you’re too young for the Olympics.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Carl shook his head disbelieving.

“You don't understand anything about swimming, do you, poof?… when I win my competition I’m joining a sports programme, they train the best athletes in England.”

Jim couldn’t have cared any less about a subject as swimming, yet somehow Carl managed to make it sound even duller than it already was. It wasn’t fun, or special by any means; all it involved was flailing your arms around and kicking your legs, which for some reason qualified a person as a talented athlete if they were good enough at it. Jim didn’t think Carl was very good at swimming, no matter how much he boasted about it. When he’d watched him during their swimming lessons Carl had been just like any other average swimmer, the only difference being that he was fast. He certainly wasn’t elegant; in-fact he swam like a malfunctioning torpedo, with hardly any grace that when he swam he simply looked clumsy and angry.

“Is that why you came over to me? To boast about your swimming competition?” Jim asked irritably.

Standing outside of the bike shed was making him cold and annoyed, especially when he needed to go home and finish his maths homework, as well as extract the sample of Botulinum Toxin he was going to use to murder Carl with.

“I just thought boys in their swimming trunks might be your thing,” Carl replied, making his way into the shed to collect his bike, which had been chained protectively to one of the railings.

Despite the bitterness in the air Jim could feel his face growing hot, and he furiously scowled.

“Swimmer’s bodies are too lean,” he explained cooly. “I like people who play rugby. They’re much stronger and taller and they always have rough skin, it isn’t silky like yours.”

“So you actually like boys?”

“Only the ones who look nice. Don’t worry, neither you or your friends fit that criteria.”

Carl scoffed flippantly, and after securing his sports bag around his shoulder he mounted his bike. His bike was bigger than Jim’s, and even though his height probably accounted for it Jim still couldn’t help but feel a slight sting of jealousy. He stepped back instinctively to let Carl past, and so that Carl’s oversized sports bag didn’t hit him in the face on his way out.

“Do me a favour, won’t you?” Carl asked, stopping briefly so that he could turn around to look at him. “Don’t talk to me ever again. And if you do, I’ll tell everybody here that you’re a dirty fag.”

“You shouldn’t call people that, you know,” Jim pointed out crisply.

“Why not?”

He tucked his hands comfortably inside his blazer pockets, and looked Carl up and down before replying.

“Because it will get you into trouble.”


	39. Botulinum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's first murder.

"I did it."

“Did what, Jim?”

“Something really bad.”

Sebastian had spent all evening pacing anxiously back and forth between the kitchen and living room, waiting for the telephone to ring.

He’d arrived home from school in a foul temper, after being caught trying to exchange cigarettes with a girl in the year above by Mrs Clarkson, who had lectured him sternly about the dangers of tobacco and confiscated the lighter he’d been hiding in his pocket for safekeeping. When he stormed through the front-door he’d been furious, with the intention of riding his bike over to the lanes on the other side of town to smash up some windows, and maybe even try and find himself a new lighter. He’d barely made it through the threshold however before his father had stopped him, with the news that while he’d been at school Jim had called the house telephone requesting to speak to him - not once but four times.

Jim hadn’t phoned in two weeks, so it was surprising why he suddenly wanted to do it now, especially with such urgency. When Sebastian picked up the phone he was greeted with a muffled onslaught of crying and whimpering, and quickly he pressed the receiver to his ear so that their conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

“‘Bastian…”

“Hey Jim,” he muttered, trying to ignore the panic rising in his chest as he leant against the wall, clutching firmly to the telephone. “What’s up? You haven’t called me in two weeks.”

“I had more important things to do,” came Jim’s disgruntled reply from the other end of the line, once he’d finished sniffing.

“Are those boys still bullying you? Adrian and his little brother?... You know I said I’d kill them if they touched you again-“

“Hush, ‘Bastian,” Jim instructed, and obediently the blond did as he was told.

Despite all the burning questions Sebastian wanted to ask, he remained silent while Jim began to explain what had happened. Occasionally he stopped to emit a feeble cry or to compose himself, but as he continued to speak his crying seemed to slowly subdue, and in frozen disbelief Sebastian could properly make out what it was he was saying.

“So you killed him?” he whispered eventually in awe, as quietly as possible in case his father was nearby. But he could hear the heavy sounds of the man’s footsteps thumping around upstairs, so he knew they were alone.

“How did you…”

“How did I do it?”

“Mm,” was all Sebastian, who was still partially in shock, could muster.

“Botulinum."

“What?”

“Botulinum Toxin,” Jim reiterated firmly. “When given enough of a dosage it paralyses the nerves in your body, meaning your your muscles can’t contract properly.”

“So Carl Powers-"

“-Drowned, yes.”

Sebastian swallowed the uncomfortable lump that had formed in his throat, realising for the first time just how tight his chest felt, like his school uniform was suddenly three times smaller than it had been at the start of the day. While Jim carried on his explanation he took the chance to exhale, before sinking onto the first step of the staircase so that his knees wouldn’t buckle beneath him. Sebastian landed with a clumsy bump, glancing once more to the top of the staircase before lifting the telephone back up to his ear.

Jim had stopped crying now, or at least to Sebastian’s relief it sounded like he had. He could still hear a faint wobble in his tone, which kept causing his voice to crack, but the sniffs and whimpers that had been present at the start of the call were now gone.

Jim had never cried on the telephone before, not even when he’d had his Walkman stolen by a group of older boys on his way home from school. Even though he’d never been there, Sebastian didn’t like Jim’s new school; he’d developed his hatred for it from the stories Jim told him over the phone, about how posh and uptight all the other students were, and how they made fun of him for his accent and the fact that his real parents hadn’t wanted to look after him. If Sebastian had a chance he would have beaten up anybody who so much as dared to look at Jim, let alone bully him, but unlike Jim he was still stuck in Dublin, in his third year at St. Cecelia’s Secondary School.

Although Sebastian didn’t have many friends, he’d managed to make a name for himself at school shortly after Jim’s departure. After a particularly grisly fight the previous year with Declan from his geography class, in which he’d broken Declan’s jaw after he’d called him a sissy, he’d been suspended for two days, and upon his return it was like suddenly everybody wanted to know everything about him. Sometimes a group of older boys would invite him to smoke with them behind the bike sheds at break time, and on a couple of occasions he’d even been asked out by Claire Walters and Angela Finsbury from his English class.

Both times however he’d said no; under Jim’s instructions he was still the temporary leader of the Grosvenor Gang, which meant strictly no girls, even if he did consider Claire to be undeniably attractive. She sat across the room from him in English next to Clara, who he still stood with sometimes at break time when her usual friends hadn’t showed up to school. He didn’t see Clara much anymore, not since she’d quit cadets the previous year, but they still spoke about the army occasionally, and smiled politely at each other whenever they passed in the hallway between lessons.

Claire on the other hand was the polar opposite; she’d joined at the beginning of the year after moving to Dublin with her parents and older sister, who attended the community college down the road, and as a result was now in all of Sebastian’s classes. Quickly after her arrival she’d made a large group of friends, who were always giggling about something whenever Sebastian looked over, and the first time she’d ever spoken to him she’d been wearing daffodil-scented perfume, which she carried around with her at all times in her schoolbag. Sebastian couldn’t understand why Claire liked him, but in order to suppress his attraction he spent most of his time by himself, navigating the corridors like a lone wolf whenever he wasn’t fighting or trying to integrate himself into a group of older boys so that they would lend him their cigarettes. He hadn’t told Jim about his crush, whose anger he could already anticipate and very much wanted to avoid.

“Did you watch?” Sebastian couldn’t help but ask, allowing his morbid curiosity to get the better of him.

He didn’t feel bad about asking, because judging by Jim’s tone he was itching to tell him all of the details anyway.

“Obviously,” came the smaller boy’s immediate response, confirming what Sebastian had already guessed. “I slipped the toxin into his eczema cream while he was signing his name on the register. They swam a few practice laps before the real competition, that’s when Carl had a fit in the water. At first they thought he was joking around until he didn’t resurface, one of the lifeguards jumped in but when they pulled Carl out he was completely blue… Everyone heard his mother in the crowd, she wouldn’t stop screaming, Adrian looked like he was going to be sick.”

Sebastian’s stomach twisted with unease at the description, and he scratched the back of his head with his free hand. Jim must have noticed the audible silence, as he quickly piped in with his defence.

“I had to kill him, ‘Bastian!” He hissed fiercely, in a way which sounded just as frightened as it did determined. “He wouldn’t stop laughing! I couldn’t take another day of him mocking me and hurting me… Nobody else would stop him so I did, and now he can’t laugh at me ever again.”

A numb silence followed, before after a few seconds Sebastian was the first to break it.

“What about the police?”

He had to ask, because the thought of Jim being dragged away in handcuffs and thrown into the back of a police car frightened him immensely. Jim had murdered somebody, which according to what he’d learnt in his religious studies lessons as school counted as sin, maybe even the biggest sin there was; Sebastian didn’t believe much in religion anymore, not since he’d moved to secondary school, but that was before Jim had done something as extreme as killing another person. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if Jim would be caught, or if maybe he’d already been caught and was in-fact phoning him from prison.

“The autopsy was published in the papers,” was the explanation the raven-haired boy gave from across the end of the line. “…Local boy dies in freak swimming accident… The coroner’s inquest said it was a drowning, it says so on the eighth line down.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed, not understanding at all how Jim had seemingly gotten anyway with it.

“And nobody questioned it?” He asked. “How a champion swimmer managed to drown in the middle of a competition?”

He distinctly remembered Jim telling him about Carl Powers, during one of their frequent phone calls on the evening of bonfire night. ‘ _He has eczema_ ’, Jim had stated moodily, while outside the sound of fireworks had been rampant, causing his mellow voice to be muffled by the continuous string of whistles and bangs. Sebastian, who thankfully didn’t have to endure the nuisance of bonfire night, had listened with heightened curiosity as Jim continued to describe Carl, from what colour hair he had, to how many swimming trophies he’d won. By the sound of it it sounded like Carl had been arrogant and pompous, but now he was dead all Sebastian could feel was guilt, even though deep down he knew his death was probably a good thing.

“Like I said, everyone here is stupid,” Jim sniffed scornfully, probably with a roll of his eyes. “They’re all stuck in their own little bubbles, it’s like somebody is controlling them… It must be boring, don’t you think?”

When Sebastian didn’t answer, he continued anyway.

“They held an assembly in school.”

“Was it any good?”

“Well, the headmistress looked grey, like somebody had drained all the colour from her skin,” Jim mused. “And all the teachers behind her looked like they were trying not to let their emotions show… one of the girls next to me started crying and had to be sent out halfway through, I think they were together.”

“What did she expect? It was her fault for dating a bully.”

Jim laughed from the other end of the line, filling Sebastian with an odd sense of relief. He could hear his father moving around upstairs, and realised that he’d be using the telephone for so long that his hands had both clammed up, and were sticking sweatily to the plastic cover of the receiver. He wiped his left hand against his school blazer, then did the same with his right, before refocusing on the conversation at hand, silently hoping that his father wouldn’t come downstairs to shout at him for wasting so much money on bills.

Jim’s voice was also beginning to sound tired, which was no surprise considering how tumultuous his week had been, and Sebastian wondered when the last time was that he’d slept for a full night’s duration.

“Are you angry at me?”

“For killing Carl?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Dunno… no, at least I don’t think so.”

“Even if it makes me a murderer?”

Sebastian sighed, and uncomfortably clenched his jaw.

“Just as long as you promise not to do it again.”

“How is that fair?” Jim demanded. “Soldiers in the army kill people all the time.”

“Because that’s different!”

When Jim asked how, Sebastian explained:

“Because soldiers protect people, they don’t kill them just ‘cause they want to.”

There came a sigh from the other end of the line, where Jim finally seemed to give in to defeat.

“Alright,” the smaller boy agreed, in an unconvincing tone. “I won’t kill anybody again.”

Sebastian managed a small sigh of reassurance at Jim’s promise, and stood up so that he could place the handset back onto its holder.

Before he ended the call, Jim decided to ask a couple of final questions, once it was decided that Sebastian wasn’t angry at him for killing Carl Powers. They were the questions he always asked whenever they spoke on the phone, consisting of matters which he deemed to be incredibly important, typically revolving around Sebastian’s school life and whether or not he’d started dating anybody yet.

“Have you kissed anybody at school yet?”

“No.”

“Not even with tongues? Or lightly on the cheek?”

“No.”

“Good boy.”

Jim then paused, but his breathing sounded slow and satisfied, and although Sebastian couldn’t see him he was sure that the raven-haired boy was probably smiling.

“Now what are you, Sebastian?”

“I’m yours,” Sebastian stated automatically, despite the lingering confusion still floating in his stomach, and the fear that Jim might not be telling the truth about not ever killing again. “I belong to you.”

The next day, Sebastian gathered two fifty pence coins from the collection of pocket money he kept in the top drawer of his desk, and decided to cycle to the corner shop before the start of school in search of a newspaper.

He reached the corner shop at eight o’clock, which was usually the time he’d catch the bus, but his first lesson that day was German, so he didn’t see any harm in bunking off. Since the start of the year he’d started bunking off regularly, normally in lessons like German and maths which he knew he wasn’t very good at, and never completed the homework for.

Sebastian parked his bike against the wall outside before entering, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie which he’d tugged on over the top of his school shirt. His entrance was accompanied by the rattling of the bell above the door, which he ignored as he made his way straight to the magazine section at the back, shuffling around the health and beauty magazines until he found the newspaper section he was looking for. Usually he came into the corner shop to buy explicit magazines, which were kept on the top shelf out of view of any elderly customers, who visited every week to buy bread and milk. Sebastian always bought them in secret, and tried to stuff them inside of his hoodie so that his father didn’t catch him and question him when he got home, however today he was searching for something entirely different than naked models.

The newspaper stand was always full of newspapers from different countries, and the headlines consisted of all different languages like Spanish and Fresh. Dublin’s own local newspaper was displayed at the front, which that day was advertising the chance to win a luxury cruise holiday, but after pushing his way to the back of the selection he finally spotted what looked to be an English newspaper. Sebastian continued to flick through until he found one specifically for London, which he eagerly pulled from the rack before turning it over to the front page.

_‘Local boy dies in freak swimming accident.’_

The headline was exactly the same as Jim had described, and below was a grainy black and white photograph of Carl Powers, smiling towards the camera in what looked like a school picture. He was different to how Sebastian had expected him to look; Carl still had all the same features that Jim had told him about yet he looked just like an ordinary schoolboy. After skimming warily over the front page Sebastian got to his feet and approached the counter to pay, ignoring the strange look he received from the shop assistant when he placed the newspaper on top of the table and presented the fifty pence coins from his pocket.

When he arrived at school it was midway through break time, giving Sebastian enough time to sit in a secluded area of the pit and read thoroughly through the article on the front page.

It started innocently enough with a description of Carl, labelling him as a thirteen year old champion swimmer from Brighton, who had recently moved to London to compete in a series of competitions. There was some mention of how many trophies he’d won, and that his father was an ex-police officer, but instead of reading it all Sebastian decided to skim through the passages of detail in order to find any important information about Carl’s death.

As he discovered, it wasn’t very difficult to find; seven lines down he stopped, and felt his chest tighten apprehensively as he caught sight of a statement issued by a journalist reporting on the case.

_‘Powers was pronounced dead at four o’clock on Saturday afternoon; attempts were made by lifeguards and members of the public to resuscitate him, however it was confirmed by the coroner’s inquest that thirteen-year-old Powers had accidentally drowned, ruling the death as non-suspicious.’_

Sebastian didn’t like the way the newspaper was making Carl out to be a poor victim, when in reality he’d been a bully, and a coward. It seemed like Jim had been right about the Botulin Toxin; practically everyone seemed to agree that Carl had drowned, even the police officers and paramedics who’d been in attendance.

Before he could read any further, a voice from afar interrupted him, and he looked up to see Claire approaching him, her face bright and her lips covered in gloss.

“Whatcha reading?” She chimed inquisitively, sitting down on the bench next to him.

Sebastian quickly rolled up the newspaper in his hands and stuffed it into his backpack, muttering a hasty ‘ _nothing_ ’ under his breath so that she wouldn’t interrogate him about it. But thankfully it seemed she was less interested in the newspaper, and more so on what he was doing at the weekend.

“Do you want to go out on Saturday?”

“Can’t,” he grunted, zipping up his backpack and hiking it over his shoulders.

“Why?” Claire pouted disappointedly, twirling her finger around a stray strand of hair that had fallen from her ponytail. “It’s not your boring friend again, is it?”

“He isn’t boring”

“He’s controlling, that friend of yours, you’re always talking about him. He doesn’t even go to this school.”

“Well he’s still my mate, haven’t you got friends too?”

“Of course I do, everybody does,” Claire protested, clearly entertained by how defiant Sebastian was being. “I’m friends with Molly, Grace, and Nicola… but at least mine don’t boss me around.”

“I dunno about that, Nicola seems pretty bossy to me,” Sebastian pointed out, causing the other girl to immediately roll her eyes with impatience.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out on Saturday? We can get chips and watch telly in my room.”

“You’ve got a television in your bedroom?” He asked in surprise.  
  
“You won’t know ’til you come to my house,” Claire teased smoothly.

Sebastian watched as her lips curled into a playful smile, displaying her perfectly-straight teeth, but as he sat awkwardly on the bench he could feel his backpack digging uncomfortably into his back; he remembered that the newspaper was still inside, and quickly shook his head.

“Like I said… I can’t, I’m busy,” he said, standing up.

Sebastian wondered if Claire had ever heard of Carl Powers, but he decided not to ask in case she became suspicious. London and Dublin were two separate worlds; Sebastian only got to learn about the things that were happening in London whenever Jim decided to tell him, which was admittedly rare. Still, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat triumphant whenever Jim informed him of anything important that had had happened; it was like their little secret, in a strange way, but Sebastian was determined to honour it.

“And let me guess, you won’t tell me _why_ you’re busy?” Claire sniffed sourly, also standing up, but only when the bell rang from afar to signal that it was time for assembly.

“Course not,” Sebastian agreed, adjusting the straps of his backpack as he began to walk off in the other direction, this time with a teasing grin on his lips. “Bye, Claire.”

He spent a lot of time that week thinking about what Jim had told him, and when it was time for their next scheduled telephone call he was already waiting eagerly by the phone box.

“Jim? I found a newspaper with Carl’s photo on.”

Jim was on the other end of the line, sounding raspy and sniffly. It sounded like he’d picked up a cold or something similar; it confirmed Sebastian’s theory that he probably hadn’t slept in a long time, which would certainly account for the raspiness, but thinking about a sleep-deprived Jim only made Sebastian feel worried, so he decided to push the thought to the back of his mind.

“What do you think?”

“He isn’t as nice-looking as you,” Sebastian confessed earnestly, recalling the grainy photograph of Carl Powers he’d seen in hopes that his answer might impress Jim. “His lips are too thin, and he looks like a snob.”

“You’re using present tense,” Jim corrected him firmly, ignoring the description Sebastian had just given him. “He’s dead, it should be _was_ not is… But I’ll let you off this time, not everybody can be clever all the time.”

Although slightly disheartened, the blond bit down on his tongue and tried not to let the disappointment sound in his voice.

“Is everyone at school still mourning?”

“It’s never-ending,” Jim exclaimed frustratedly, enough that Sebastian could hear the annoyance spiking in his voice. “All anybody cares about is poor Carl… poor little Carl Powers who couldn’t stop himself from drowning… What about me? I was the one he used to laugh at.”

Then he stopped, so abruptly that Sebastian was surprised by the calmness of his voice when he spoke again.

“Theres a boy.”

“Oh-"  
  
“Not that kind of boy, doofus,” Jim explained bluntly. “He knows that what happened to Carl wasn’t an accident.”

Jim’s words caught Sebastian off-guard, and if it wasn’t for the telephone line between them he knew he would have made an embarrassment of himself by blushing. He’d spent so long trying to convince himself that the murder was justified, that Carl Powers deserved exactly what he’d gotten, but after Jim had finished speaking he suddenly felt afraid again, the same type of fear he’d felt the first time the raven-haired boy had confessed to what he’d done.

“But you told me it was impossible.”

“It _is_ ,” Jim reiterated, sounding just as irritated as before, if not more-so.

“Then why would he, this boy, know that Carl was murdered?”

“Because he’s smart,” Jim explained. “Smart like me… You have the newspaper, don’t you?”

“Do you?” asked Sebastian.

“Obviously,” the smaller boy drawled flippantly. “I stuck it on display on my bedroom wall.”

Jim then cleared his throat, like he was becoming impatient.

“Now, find the newspaper and tell me what it says at the end.”

Although he was sceptical, Sebastian placed the handset down on the hallway floor and instructed his father not to pick it up while he was gone. When asked, he murmured something hastily about ‘ _private stuff_ ’.

He raced as quickly as he could upstairs to where he’d left his backpack, and found it discarded on a clumsy heap under his bed, spilling with unfinished homework and a tennis ball he’d stolen from the PE shed during lunchtime. After rummaging through his bag Sebastian couldn’t work out why the newspaper was seemingly missing, until he remembered that he’d moved it into his desk drawer for safekeeping.

He kept all of his most valuable belongings in his desk drawer; it was the only way he could ensure that his father wouldn’t snoop through them, and even if he did then Sebastian would know. His desk drawer sometimes didn’t close properly which meant each time you wanted to shut it you had to push it forcefully; only Sebastian knew how to close his drawer, so if it was ever slightly ajar then he’d know instantly that someone had looked through it.

After finally locating what he was looking for he raced back downstairs, eagerly picking up the handset to check if Jim was still there.

“Do you have it?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said breathlessly, sitting down on the floor and opening the newspaper onto the first page. “What were you saying?..”

“Read the last paragraph, five lines from the bottom,” Jim instructed.

Sebastian’s gaze trailed down to the part Jim had directed him to, and quickly he found the paragraph at the bottom of the page. It was different to the rest of the article, which had been dreary and drowned in sympathy; the paragraph was only a small passage of writing, but it looked like it had been pushed towards the back of the article to hide it from sight, squeezed between two advertisements so that the ordinary reader would simply look past it. Sebastian thought it was odd, and realised he must have missed it when he’d skimmed through the article the first time round.

He decided to ask Jim for the instructions again.

“You want me to read it out loud?” He asked in confusion.

“All of it,” Jim agreed, sounding serious.

Sebastian bit down on his tongue in concentration, and slowly began to read through the paragraph.

“While Powers’ death is confirmed to have been accidental, a ten year old schoolboy has written to Scotland Yard claiming to have evidence of foul play… William Holmes, from neighbouring Surrey, wrote a letter last week urging police to open an investigation into the matter, insisting that it is impossible for Carl Powers to simply have drowned…"

His voice trailed off only after a couple of sentences, while his brow creased into a deep frown.

“How could he know about Carl?”

“It’s been in the papers all week, not just this one,” Jim explained calmly from across the line, who’d been listening intently to the passage Sebastian was reading from. “Plenty of tabloids too, but they’re more interested in making a scandal out of it. I read one today that said Carl’s mother and father were having two separate affairs.”

“Is that true?” Sebastian asked naively.

“Probably, but the tabloids love to exaggerate,” Jim dismissed bluntly, before ushering Sebastian to continue. “Go on, read the rest."

“…Err, It says Scotland Yard have ignored all the letters this boy, William, keeps sending them… Apparently he’s adamant that somebody stole Carl’s shoes.”

Sebastian thought it was a strange thing to include, especially when Carl Powers had drowned and the only thing this ten year old boy wanted to focus on was his shoes.

“Surely he can’t be that smart if all he cares about is shoes,” he pointed out with yet more scepticism, until Jim’s silence on the other end of the line told him all he needed to know.

“You took his shoes?”

“I wanted a souvenir,” came Jim’s defiant response, taking Sebastian by surprise by how willing he was to defend it.

After all, they were only a pair of shoes.

“Are they even your size?” He asked curiously.

“I don’t wear them, I just keep them under my bed so I can look at them whenever I want,” the raven-haired boy said. “Besides I couldn’t wear them even if I wanted to. Carl’s feet were bigger than mine, and they still say his name on the label.”

Sebastian took in all of the information, still frowning, before looking down to the paragraph of the article he’d been halfway through reading.

“Who is this William Holmes anyway?” He couldn’t help but ask, skimming over the name once more to try and wrap his head round it.

“He goes by Sherlock,” Jim informed him matter-of-factly. “It’s a silly name, I know, but he insists everyone calls him it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve already researched him… I don’t know what he looks like but I know he’s clever, clever enough that he already knows Carl was murdered.”

Sebastian was alarmed by how quickly the tone in Jim’s voice seemed to have changed since he’d moved to London. It wasn’t just that his voice had gotten deeper, although it certainly had, but whenever Jim spoke now there seemed to be an apparent coldness to it, like everything he said was methodical and already planned out. He wondered if Carl Powers’ death had something to do with it; Sebastian could hear the pride in Jim’s voice whenever he spoke of it, as well as how seemingly unfazed he was that he’d caused the death of another person, a boy the same age as him just because he’d laughed.

Jim was no longer the boy Sebastian recognised, but as much as it frightened him he knew he had to stay obedient; he was loyal after all, and Jim was still his friend.

“Is Sherlock dangerous?” He asked in a hushed voice, a question which had been burning on the tip of his tongue ever since he’d first discovered about the ten-year-old.

Jim’s new obsession.

“No…” came Jim’s relaxed hum from the other end of the phone, sounding boldly confident in his answer. “I don’t think he’s a threat. Not yet anyway.”

And so Sebastian believed him, and decided to ask no more about it.


	40. Surrey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim invites Sebastian to spend the Easter holidays with him, but there's something he has planned.

Jim had never been on holiday with both of his parents before, so when it was announced that they’d be spending the first week of the Easter holidays in the countryside, immediately he leapt at the opportunity.

“Can we go to Surrey?”

“Surrey?” Kirstie asked incredulously, looking up from the label she’d been in the midst of embroidering. “Why would you want to go there?”

She’d been sat slaving away at the kitchen table all morning, sewing Jim’s name into the inside of his school trousers with a needle and thread. Since it was a Saturday Jim didn’t have school, but because the Summer term was fast-approaching Kirstie had insisted that he needed a pair of shorts for the warm weather, since he’d outgrown the pair he’d worn the previous year. Jim was resistant to the idea, especially because he hated the prospect of his bony legs being on show, but when he’d arrived downstairs for breakfast he’d been dismayed to find the bag of clothes already awaiting him.

“No reason, I’m just thinking…” Jim mused innocently, glaring down at English homework strewn out in front of him, which was proving to be both difficult and a complete waste of time.

“Well we were thinking about going back to Ireland,” Kirstie admitted as she returned to her needlework, after glancing momentarily across the table at Jim. “After all we haven’t been back there for almost a year… You can see Sebastian, what about that fort you built when you were little?”

“It doesn’t exist anymore,” shrugged the raven-haired boy flippantly. “It’s gone now, Sebastian says it was all destroyed in the last storm they had. The wind blew it down.”

He hadn’t forgotten about that Summer; it was the year Sebastian had been initiated into the Grosvenor Gang, when they’d built a fort and he’d fallen from the rope swing and broken his arm. He’d even gone as far as to name his creation ‘Castle Moriarty’, which now according to Sebastian resembled nothing more than a pile of broken sticks scattered across the muddied woodland ground. Jim wasn’t surprised; there were always storms in Ireland, some worse than others. You could tell which storms were going to be bad by the way the weatherwoman spoke about it on the news. If she had a serious expression and spoke in a solemn voice then it usually meant a bad storm was on its way, and everybody would go around locking the windows and making sure that there were no gaps underneath the door in case of the riverbank flooding.

Jim knew that Kirstie was surprised because her head jumped up from her embroidering as soon as the words left his mouth, and afterwards she placed down her sewing kit in an attempt to seem sympathetic.

“Well Sebastian’s still there, at least that’s a good thing,” she prompted kindly. “Does he still live on Grosvenor Street?”

Jim nodded.

“He says nothing’s changed much,” he explained matter-of-factly. “A couple of people have moved in and out but that’s it really. Apparently a middle-aged couple live in our old house now. Sebastian says they have a dog, and sometimes they pay him to take it on walks.”

He didn’t add that the middle-aged couple in question were both men, even though Sebastian had diligently described them as being ‘ _one’s tall and slim and the other’s fat and short’,_ both with bushy beards and kind faces. Instead he lowered his gaze back down towards his English homework, just as the front-door opened and Brian entered the hallway.

He looked as jolly as ever, wearing a knitted jumper as he entered the kitchen, pressing a warm kiss to Kirstie’s cheek and ruffling Jim’s hair as he passed. Jim scowled immediately and lowered his head, while Brian took a seat at the table and observed the notes he was scribbling down.

“More English homework?”  
  
“It’s Shakespeare this time,” Jim informed the older man, recounting the previous week when his homework had been a tedious essay about the romantic poets.

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’s not,” he disagreed bluntly. “None of it makes any sense. Why couldn’t he just write normal plays? I bet nobody could understand his stupid monologues.”

Brian chuckled in amusement, which was when Jim decided to input his next question into the conversation.

“Brian?” He asked slowly, causing the man to stop laughing and clear his throat.

“Hm?”

“Kirstie says we’re going on holiday to the countryside… Can we go to Surrey?”

He thought carefully about his next words.

“…And can I bring Sebastian?”

From the corner of the eye he could see Kirstie’s prying gaze observing the scene discreetly from her needlework, waiting for an answer. Her lips were twitching slightly, like she was struggling not to say anything, but in the end it was Brian who took it upon himself to answer.

“I suppose Surrey isn’t too far away…it wouldn’t be difficult to drive there,” he contemplated lowly, also consciously-aware of Kirstie’s sceptical gaze from across the table. “I take it going back to Ireland’s out of the question?”

“Yes,” Jim sharply stated.

Brian sighed and thoughtfully scratched his beard, which was now almost completely grey apart from maybe one or two stubborn hairs.

“Well there isn’t any reason why we can’t go,” he agreed. “Although I don’t know about bringing Sebastian with us.”

“But I haven’t seen him in over a year,” the thirteen-year-old interjected defiantly. “‘Bastian’s got a passport, if I asked him he’d say yes. He always says yes to what I tell him.”

Then it was Kirstie’s turn to object.

“Ireland’s a long way away,” she reminded him. “Besides, your holidays might be different-"

“-I already checked, he finishes term on the same day as me.”

“I suppose I could pick him up,” Brian chipped in tentatively at the end, as the whole table turned to look at him.

Kirstie looked displeased, whereas Jim was positively delighted.

“So he can come then?”

“Only if his father says yes,” the older man decided, while Jim continued to grin. “If security isn’t too tight then I can travel to Dublin to meet him… Just as long as his passport is still in date.”

“I think this needs more discussion-"

“Jim hasn’t seen Sebastian in a long time, I don’t see any harm in it.”

Kirstie looked back down at her needlework, placing Jim’s uniform on a pile on top of the table before beginning to pack away her threads into their designated box. Jim could tell she was still unhappy with the arrangement because she didn’t say a word as she stood up, or when she went outside to collect the morning post and milk on the doorstep, which was completely different from her usual, bubbly demeanour. Once she was gone Jim turned to Brian, who was sat smiling gently, even despite the tense atmosphere that had filled the kitchen.

“Are you going to get a divorce?”

“A divorce?” Brian was stunned, but equally as amused.

“No, I don’t think so, Jim,” he promised, standing up and brushing away some of the stray wool that had formed on his jumper. “Normally people only get a divorce if they don’t like each other, or if they shout and argue too much.”

“Wasn’t that an argument?”

Brian chuckled.

“Did you hear us raise our voices?”

“No.”

“Well then there you go.”

Jim frowned a little, and tried to hide his scepticism.

“We argued a lot when we first met, like most couples do, but that’s because we were young and still so naive about the world,” Brian then continued, chuckling as he reminisced. “Well now we’re much older, maybe wiser too. But we love each other, that’s the main thing. And I hope one day you’ll find somebody who you love too.”

“Does it have to be a woman?”

He’d expected Brian to be alarmed, or at least the slightest bit confused, but when the older man looked down at him he seemed to be neither. Brian wasn’t quite smiling, but the tint in his eyes was warm and kind, so if he was suspicious then he was doing a remarkably good job of hiding it.

“It can be whoever you want, Jim,” the man explained calmly, as he made his way over to the other side of the table and began to clean up the rest of the sewing equipment, closing the box carefully once he’d finished. “A woman, a man, I don’t see why it should matter.”

Then there came a noise from the front door, signalling that Kirstie had returned.

“Now, I think we need to talk about Surrey.”

After weeks of persuasion, Sebastian touched down at Heathrow Airport on the second day of the Easter holidays.

Jim first saw him while he was stood waiting impatiently on the other side of the terminal gates, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts which only just reached his kneecaps. Sebastian was carrying a brown trunk by his side, with his head held high like he wanted to prove that he was strong enough to carry it, while Brian walked next to him fussing around with their plane tickets.

Sebastian looked remarkably taller than when Jim had last seen him, and the section of his legs that were on-show beneath his shorts were also a lot hairier. When they caught sight of each other Sebastian immediately grinned and made his way over, placing his trunk down onto the floor so that he could pull Jim into a hug. Immediately Jim could feel how much bigger the other boy’s arms had grown, and as they embraced he subconsciously breathed in the scent of Sebastian’s shirt, which smelt suspiciously like cigarette smoke.

“You’re late.”

“Only by an hour,” Sebastian said, in a voice two times deeper than what Jim was used to hearing.

He’d heard Sebastian’s voice plenty of times on the telephone, which seemed to have gotten deeper the more time they spent apart, but the last time they’d seen each in-person it had still been scratchy and innocent. Sebastian sounded like a man now, and even looked a bit like one too, and while Jim was slightly envious he couldn’t help but feel secretly pleased at how handsome he had become.

“The flight got delayed, something about extra security checks, you know how it is.”

When Sebastian let go Jim smiled triumphantly up at him, admiring the way his face shape had changed since their last meeting. His jaw was more defined and his nose was bigger, which Jim oddly didn’t mind, and his once straw-coloured hair had started to darken into a murky shade of blond.

“Shall we get your bags packed into the car, Sebastian?” Kirstie asked, also admiring Sebastian’s newly-transformed appearance, smiling from a few feet away.

Sebastian was adamant that he wanted to carry his own trunk back to the car, despite Brian offering to do it for him. Jim noticed how he didn’t argue when the Englishman eventually took the case from him, which was very out of character, but he put it down to the fact that the blond was merely trying to be polite.

Jim kept staring at Sebastian as they walked, still trying to pick out every feature of his face and stature that had changed during their time apart. To Jim’s amusement, even Sebastian’s walk was different from the last time he’d seen it; his posture was straight and rigid, and whenever he stepped forward his arms swung in coordination with his legs, something Jim assumed he’d been taught to do in cadets. He stayed relatively close to the taller boy until they reached the car, where he proceeded to clamber into the backseat while Sebastian lingered behind to help lift his trunk into the boot.

“You’re good at being charming,” Jim informed him, as Sebastian climbed into the backseat next to him.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

Kirstie and Brian were still stood outside, trying to work out how to fit all of the suitcases into the car boot. Jim could have easily solved the problem for them if he wanted to, but in exchange for a few minutes of privacy between himself and Sebastian he decided not to.

“Because you’re being helpful, you aren’t usually this nice,” the raven-haired boy pointed out, thinking about the strangely polite tone Sebastian had used inside the airport.

“Yes I am,” Sebastian protested.

“No you’re not. If somebody says something you don’t like you start fighting them. That’s hardly very diplomatic.”

Jim reached his hand out, and placed it against the arm Sebastian had used to carry his trunk with. Because he was wearing short-sleeves it meant Jim could feel his skin, which was toned from all of the sports and exercise he’d evidently been doing. He felt mildly jealous that he couldn’t watch Sebastian while he exercised, assuming that the blond probably looked gorgeous covered in mud and dripping with sweat.

“Is your stomach the same too?” Jim asked.

But Sebastian seemed unwilling to answer, maybe because Kirstie and Brian were stood in close proximity outside.

“Will you at least show me when we get to the cottage?” He added.  
  
“Tonight,” Sebastian agreed quietly, placing his hand momentarily on top of Jim’s before pushing it away. “When we’re alone, but don’t talk so loudly otherwise people will get the wrong impression.”

“Oh ‘Bastian,” Jim sighed, his voice oozing with delight. “They’re stupid, they won’t hear a thing.”

“Still-"

“-Alright, alright. Don’t worry your pretty little head. It can wait until tonight.”

The drive to Surrey took just over an hour. It was a little longer than planned because on two occasions they had to stop, once because Jim complained that he needed the toilet, and a second time because the map Kirstie was following was wrong and they’d had to turn back. By the time they arrived it was late evening, and the sky had already started to morph into a pale orange; Sebastian was the first to climb out, marvelling eagerly at the sight of the stone-built cottage in front of them, while Jim was merely tired and keen to go inside.

It was easy to tell they weren’t in London anymore because everything surrounding the cottage was green; above the trees sat acres upon acres of grassy fields, and during their drive Sebastian had even spotted a river, where two men had been stood fishing for what according to their buckets seemed to be trout. After becoming accustomed to the dreary grey skies of London it felt strange to be in a place without any traffic or bustling commuters, however Jim wasn’t the slightest part interested about being in the countryside. He was only interested in _him_ , the boy from the newspaper, the infuriating boffin who’d almost discovered his secret.

Sherlock Holmes was three years younger than him, but to Jim that didn’t make him any less of a threat. On the last day of term Jim had used the computer in the school library to search for him; he’d found his school, his house, even a list of allergies he’d obtained from his medical records. According to his research Sherlock Holmes lived in a five mile radius of the cottage, which meant Jim was perilously close to finding him; there was no other reason why he’d wanted to come to boring Surrey, and judging by Sebastian’s nervous body language the taller boy had already realised it too.

“Dinner will be in one hour. After you’ve washed your hands you boys can go upstairs and unpack.”

Jim didn’t like taking orders from Kirstie, but because the matter involved germs he was the first to eagerly make his way to the sink, with Sebastian obediently trailing along behind him.

There were only two rooms upstairs; one was a master bedroom, which automatically belonged to Kirstie and Brian since they were technically in charge, whilst the other had been advertised on the brochure as a twin bedroom. Jim was displeased to find that the bedroom reserved for himself and Sebastian didn’t contain a double bed like he’d hoped for, but instead a wooden bunk bed with crisp linen sheets which had been specially cleaned for their arrival. Although he would have liked to share a bed with Sebastian he supposed it wasn’t nearly as bad as the toilet, which consisted of a small shack outside in the garden.

“I’m on top,” Jim decided, dumping his suitcase onto the floor and crawling up the ladder towards the top bunk.

Sebastian entered last, seemingly disheartened by the arrangement.

“Don’t look so sad, Sebby,” Jim cooed, from where he had already climbed up the ladder and was peering down smugly at the taller boy below. “You’re too heavy to sleep on top. If the bed broke you’d fall down and crush me.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Not in that way,” he quickly defended himself. “You’re only heavy because you have lots of muscle. It’s all the sports you play at cadets… If it makes you feel any better I prefer you when you’re strong.”

His excuse must have worked, as with a sigh of acceptance Sebastian placed his belongings down on his own mattress and kicked off his shoes. The trainers he was wearing were much larger than Jim’s, who had only recently stopped shopping in the children’s section, and looked like they had been scrubbed rigorously before arrival to scrape away any mud or dirt. Sebastian finished arranging his shoes in a neat pile next to the door, and once he was done Jim commanded for him to join him on the top bunk, which he proceeded to do obediently.

“You know you’ll get in trouble if they see you so high up,” was the first thing the blond said, as he carefully scaled the ladder and joined Jim on the top bunk.

Jim knew Sebastian was referring to Kirstie and Brian, and judging by his hushed voice he was also alluding to his hospitalisation, which caused him to scowl.

“I only fell off the bed,” the raven-haired boy uttered scornfully, as he made himself comfortable against Sebastian’s flank.

Sebastian’s arms immediately wrapped around him, holding him securely.

“You threw yourself off,” he corrected gravely, a hand coming instinctively to rest against Jim’s arm.

The touch to his skin made Jim’s body prickle with delight. Since turning thirteen he’d started to appreciate other people’s touches, Sebastian’s in particular; although his skin was rough, whenever Sebastian ran his fingers across his arms or chest he always did it with utmost delicacy, as if he was wary Jim might crack like porcelain if he was too harsh. Whatever the reason was Jim enjoyed it, and as Sebastian outstretched his arms it gave him the opportunity to admire his newly-defined biceps, which were still small but definitely noticeable.

“That was years ago when I was still a baby,” Jim hummed dismissively, patting Sebastian’s chest to calm him. “Besides I’ve got you to protect me now. If I try to throw myself off again then it would be your fault for not protecting me, especially with all that cadet training you do.”

He moved his hand from Sebastian’s chest to his arm, thoughtfully smoothing over his muscles.

“Will you take your shirt off for me?”

The door was closed, so Sebastian had no excuse. Amidst his hesitance Jim could see a small inkling of pride in his eyes, which grew even brighter when he lifted up his shirt and Jim clapped with glee.

Sebastian didn’t take his shirt off completely, but he held it high enough for Jim to see everything below his collarbones. As Jim’s gaze trailed over the entirety of his physique he found himself smiling uncontrollably, and ever so slowly he reached out to touch a bruise that had formed on Sebastian’s chest. Sebastian winced as soon as he touched it, which meant it was most likely new.

“I got into a fight with Jack O’Donavan again,” the blond explained, as if he could already sense Jim’s impending question.

“Did you win?”

“Sorta,” he grunted, as Jim pressed harder against his bruise. “I punched his jaw and he hit me in the chest. The bastard.”

“Bastard,” the smaller boy agreed, pulling his hand away and beckoning for Sebastian to lower his shirt.

“You’re handsome, you know? It’s a shame I hardly get to admire you anymore… everybody at your school does, it isn’t fair.”

“Don’t be daft, Jim. I’m hardly like Rory Ballinger.”

“Who’s that?”

“One of the boys in upper sixth,” Sebastian explained informatively. “He’s captain of the rugby team, all the girls love him.”

“Then it’s a good thing you aren’t allowed to play rugby anymore,” Jim decided.  
  
“Why?”

“Because we wouldn’t want any girls gushing over you, would we?” He chimed, leaning up on his tip toes to peck a solitary, rewarding kiss to Sebastian’s forehead. “With a body and face as pretty as yours I think you should be mine forever.”

They ate boiled eggs and soldiers for dinner that evening, outside on the patio underneath the shade of a low-hanging umbrella.

Kirstie and Brian planned to go together to the town market the following morning to pick up some groceries, which was only a fifteen minute drive away, so for that evening dinner consisted of whatever food they’d managed to find in the pantry.

Boiled eggs and soldiers were one of the few foods Jim actually enjoyed eating, however that didn’t stop him from picking up a piece of toast every few minutes and dangling it in front of Sebastian’s mouth for him to eat. Sebastian had already wolfed down the majority of his own plateful, but that didn’t stop him from taking Jim’s food whenever the other boy offered it to him, and politely eating it like Jim was commanding him to do.

The conversation around the dinner table was pleasant enough, with Kirstie and Brian detailing the arrangements for the holiday while the sky transformed into a burnt orange behind them.

“Will you boys be alright on your own while we’re gone tomorrow?” The older woman asked, looking up from where she’d been toying with her napkin.

Now that Sebastian was there in Surrey with them she seemed to be more at ease, and Jim secretly hoped that the blond’s good manners would earn him Kirstie’s forgiveness for having suggested it in the first place.

“I think I’ve got five pounds in my purse. It should be enough for you to get a bus to town and look around the shops.”

Jim, who had been in the middle of attempting to feed Sebastian his last slice of toast, looked up immediately in excitement.

“And you won’t follow us?” He asked.

Kirstie smiled and shook her head; she was certainly naive, but during times like this Jim was extremely grateful for it.

“You’re both almost fourteen, as long as you’re back by dinnertime we’ll have no trouble.”

Jim helped Sebastian to clean up after dinner; it wasn’t something he normally did, but he needed to speak to the blond in private, and standing awkwardly around the kitchen sink seemed like the only way to do so without being overheard.

“Did you hear Kirstie? She’s giving us five whole pounds to do whatever we want.”

“Funnily enough I was there, Jim,” Sebastian grunted, his concentrated stare fixed upon the plates he was washing up in the sink basin, which Jim had carelessly overfilled with washing up liquid.

“Why don’t you call her your Ma anyway? Why Kirstie?”

Jim, whose idea of ‘help’ consisted of sitting on the countertop and watching Sebastian clean up, rolled his eyes irritably at the other boy’s lack of enthusiasm.

“Because she isn’t my real mother, or are you so slow that you haven’t noticed that either?”

Embarrassed by the response Sebastian kept his head low, and didn’t speak again until all of the clean dishes and cutlery were drying on the rack.

“Why Surrey?” he asked, frowning uncomfortably as he turned off the tap.

He glanced to the door to make sure that neither of Jim’s parents were listening in, before continuing.

“Is it because of _him_?”

“You can say his name, ‘Bastian,” Jim pointed out firmly.

“Alright, Sherlock then,” Sebastian sighed, wiping his soap-covered hands against the fabric of his shorts. “That’s why we’re in Surrey, isn’t it? So you can get rid of him.”

“It’s more of a precautionary measure,” the raven-haired boy explained, swinging his legs thoughtfully from the edge of the countertop. “…If we find him then I’ll know whether or not he’s smarter than me. And if he is then I’ll just have to deal with him too.”  
  
“Like Carl?”  
  
“Not exactly. I don’t think Sherlock swims, so it would be harder to drown him, not to mention it would be far too suspicious.”

As he spoke Jim was consciously aware of how giddy he sounded, which came as a result of the adrenaline he felt every time he said Sherlock’s name out loud. Since reading the newspaper article he’d thought about him a lot, mostly when he was in bed at night struggling to sleep. In-fact he’d finally found a photograph to determine who exactly his new enemy was; it had taken hours of browsing, naturally, but after countless afternoons scouring through the school computer he’d eventually stumbled upon a photograph of Sherlock Holmes, scowling stubbornly at the camera on what, judging by the uniform he’d been wearing, looked like school picture day. He wasn’t pretty like Jim had envisioned, but then again he was three years younger than both himself and Sebastian. Sherlock Holmes had brown curly hair, and a thin-lipped frown which made him looked permanently unimpressed. There was no doubt Jim would recognise him if he spotted him on the street, especially with his baby blue eyes, which were different to Sebastian’s only because they contained tiny specs of green.

“I want you to sleep with me tonight,” Jim announced, as they made their way upstairs to get ready for bed.

A ten o’clock lights-out had been decided, though certainly not by Jim. It was Kirstie’s attempt at being authoritarian, which didn’t suit her gentle demeanour very much; Sebastian, who was noticeably exhausted from his flight, had complied happily to the request, whereas Jim had bickered back and forth with the older woman until eventually she’d caved in, and begrudgingly allowed them to stay awake for an extra hour.

“Don’t be daft,” Sebastian muttered, in a low tone that sounded like he was trying to suppress his own eagerness towards the idea.

“Fine, suit yourself,” Jim snapped irritatedly, as he retrieved his pyjamas and toothbrush from his suitcase. “I don’t mind if you wet the bed, you know, or if you have dreams about naked-"

“Shut up,” grunted Sebastian, as his cheeks turned an embarrassed shade of red.

Jim smiled at the desired effect he’d caused, before making his way towards the bedroom door and kissing the taller boy briefly as he headed downstairs towards the bathroom.

He and Sebastian took it in turns to shower, with Jim using all of his will-power not to peek when it was Sebastian’s turn, before making their way to their separate bunks once it was time for bed.

The top bunk creaked slightly as Jim crawled onto the mattress, but if he stayed still then he could hear Sebastian below, who was in the middle of taking off his shirt. He tried to look, but to his disappointment Sebastian was wearing a vest underneath, which completely covered his bare torso.

“Jim?”

“Hm?"

“What did it feel like?” came Sebastian’s voice from below, sounding quiet and cautious.

Jim rolled over onto his front and tried to look at the blond through the cracks between the bedposts, but all he could make out was the fabric of Sebastian’s vest, which rose slowly up and down each time he breathed in and out. He frowned and turned over onto his back again, staring upwards at patterned ceiling as his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“Killing Carl,” Sebastian said again, more hesitantly this time.

Jim couldn’t understand why he was being so secretive; the master bedroom was on the other side of the hallway, and by the sound of the radio downstairs there was no chance of them being overheard anyway.

“Why d’you want to know?”

“Just…” the blond’s voice dithered momentarily. “You’ve never described it before. Was it scary?”

Jim grinned.

“Nothing scares me, I’m not a little baby.”

“Well what did it feel like then?”

“Good,” Jim explained simply. “Because Carl deserved it… and by killing him it made the world a better place. It felt electric, like every nerve in my body was tingling. It’s like when elements react in a science experiment. One minute everything was normal and then it all came crashing down… it was brilliant.”

He then stopped, picking up on Sebastian’s prolonged silence.

“One day you can help me kill all of the bad people in the world, then when we’re finished you and I can live together forever. Nobody will hurt us again.”

Silence again. Only this time Jim smiled and closed his eyes.

“Now hush Sebastian and go to sleep, we’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

The following morning Jim was the first person in the house to wake. He took the opportunity to observe Sebastian, who was still fast asleep on the bottom bunk, by crawling into bed next to him and cupping his face, so that he could tenderly brush his thumb across his skin and admire his newly-developed jawline. The older boy grunted a little at the touch to his jaw however he didn’t wake, and after a moment of bated breath Jim dared to pull the duvet cover over them both, so that he could curl up against Sebastian’s side and relish in his warmth.

When Sebastian did finally open his eyes he did it with a heavy groan, however it wasn’t until he felt something pressing against his arm that he realised Jim was beside him.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” he muttered quietly.

Sebastian’s voice sounded much scratchier and deeper when he’d only just woken up. Jim thought it was heavenly.

“Well I did a good job of it, didn’t I?” he asked smugly, brushing away a flake of dust which had formed in the corner of the older boy’s eye.

Sebastian huffed, and tried to swat his hand away.

“Very good,” he agreed, in an attempt to please Jim, before sitting up and ushering him off of his bed. “Are your parents awake yet?”  
  
“No,” the raven-haired boy dismissed. “Otherwise they would have made breakfast. Come on, if we leave now we can catch the early bus, plus we won’t have to deal with any of their stupid questions.”

After begrudgingly climbing off of Sebastian’s bed Jim opened up the taller boy’s trunk, retrieving a pair of shorts and a striped t-shirt which he then handed to him. Jim turned his back while Sebastian got dressed, knowing the older boy would shout at him if he dared to look for even a split-second, and while he was waiting he took the opportunity to pick out his own clothes. Only they weren’t his own clothes; the hoodie belonged very much to Sebastian, which was obvious by the fact that it was three times too big, and that the cadets logo had been sewn into the right-hand corner, accompanied by the blond’s initials. Unlike the rest of Sebastian’s clothes it was the only one which didn’t smell like nicotine, maybe because he was trying to take good care of it.

“Can I smoke too?” Jim asked, as he finished lacing up his trainers and stood up.

“No chance.” Sebastian firmly shook his head. “You’re too young.”

“So are you!”

Jim narrowed his eyes.

“Where do you get them from anyway? No shopkeeper would ever sell them to you.”

“The boys at school gimme their cigarettes,” the blond shrugged, following behind Jim as they trailed closely downstairs together. “They saw all the fights I’ve been getting into and they think I’m tough. They’ve offered to let me smoke with them at break time.”

The raven-haired boy scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, I’m gone for two years and you turn feral… all that hard work and it’s all been wasted,” he chimed bitterly, jumping down the final step of the staircase. “I’ll have to fix you again, before you get yourself into any more trouble and end up in prison.”

“Like you’re any better. What about Carl?”

“All of the autopsy reports say he drowned. They’re hardly going to blame a thirteen year old for a freak accident.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything after that; as Jim scavenged around in Kirstie’s purse he stood still and watched, awkwardly taking the five pound coins when Jim handed them over to him.

“This is stealing,” he stated sternly, shoving the coins into his trouser pockets.

The critique seemed to have no effect on Jim, who carefully placed the purse back into Kirstie’s handbag before zipping it back up.

“It isn’t,” he denied. “She was going to give us the money anyway.”

After making sure the money was secured in Sebastian’s pocket, Jim confidently unbolted the lock on the front door and led the way outside. The air was warm but not too humid, and the light was ten times brighter in the garden than how it had been inside, where all of the curtains were still closed. Around them all of the trees were beginning to regrow their leaves, from the small hedgerows to the much larger oak trees in the field nearby, and as he walked across the garden Jim was aware of how bouncy the grass felt beneath his feet, which was nothing like the damp concrete pavements in London.

The garden was separated from the road outside by a large wooden gate, which Jim clambered over stealthily before waiting for Sebastian to join him. Sebastian took a little longer, since he was trying to stop the coins from falling out of his pocket, and when he did eventually land on the other side Jim patted the side of his cheek rewardingly.

They walked for ten minutes trying to find the nearest bus stop. Jim walked ahead, brandishing a long tree branch that he’d found on the floor, while Sebastian marched behind him examining the abundantly-green terrain. They walked along the road, which didn’t make much of a difference considering there were hardly any cars, just the occasional tractor which would honk its horn and force them to move out of the way whenever it needed to get past. Sebastian pointed out that they probably should have been wearing suncream since the weather was so warm, however his words were lost when Jim decided to ignore him and direct his efforts instead towards swinging the tree branch in his hand towards a gathering of Starlings, before subsequently watching in glee as they all squawked and flew away.

The bus stop didn’t have a bench, or even a shelter to protect them if it suddenly started raining; it was composed of a wooden post with information written at the top, however it blended in so well with the rest of the scenery that if it wasn’t for Sebastian’s keen eye then they would have missed it. Jim quickly grew bored of standing, and decided to kill time by prodding his tree branch at a neighbouring bush in search of hedgehogs, while Sebastian remained on-guard next to the road in-case the bus suddenly appeared.

When the bus did arrive, Jim was dismayed to discover how small it was. He’d become so accustomed to the red double-deckers that often passed by his bedroom window that he didn’t recognise it at first, with its faded green paint and the sign on the front which read as ‘ _Ripley Town Centre_ ’. The driver was an old man around his mid seventies, while the only passengers on board were two nuns and a woman gently rocking a pram with a baby inside. Sebastian entered first, reluctantly brandishing the stolen money in his pocket, and after exchanging it in return for two tickets both he and Jim made their way to the back of the bus, where they sat in concentrated silence for the rest of the journey. Jim made sure to take the window seat, so that he could observe the passing world around them and formulate a plan in his head, while Sebastian guarded the aisle seat to keep watch of any police officers who might try and question them. But thankfully they just looked like two ordinary schoolboys enjoying their Easter holiday,so nobody tried to interrogate them.

It was a twenty minute drive in total, made a couple of minutes longer when somebody tried to buy a ticket without the right change, before finally they arrived at what Jim presumed to be the town centre. It was only a loose assumption because it looked nothing like the town centre he had envisioned in his head; he’d expected great towering office buildings, and shops crowded with anticipating customers, whereas instead they were greeted by a cobbled street full of small, stone-built shops, some with tables and chairs outside where people were sat chatting to one-another. Despite the size it was still busy, probably because it was market day, and as they climbed off of the bus Sebastian instinctively took hold of Jim’s hand, causing Jim to frown sceptically.

“What did you do that for?”

“So we don’t get separated,” Sebastian explained, holding on to Jim’s hand as they manoeuvred their way through the rows of market stalls, where fruits, vegetables, and different types of fish were all being sold off in large wooden crates.

Their fingers remained interlocked as they shuffled their way through the bustling crowds, trying not to get separated from one-another despite how difficult it was proving to be.

“If anybody asks, we should tell them we’re brothers.”

“That’s stupid,” Jim protested, highly hostile to the idea. “Nobody would believe it, we look like the complete opposite of each-other.”

The longer they walked for, the more irritated Jim was starting to become. Even though there was no sign of Sherlock Holmes he was determined that the ten-year-old was surely there somewhere, hiding in plain sight. The warmth of the air had started to make the palm of Sebastian’s hand sweaty, in-turn causing it to stick to his own, however as they turned the corner suddenly Jim pointed out.

“There.”

Surely enough, stood outside of the town pharmacy was a scowling young boy, stood with his arms folded across his chest while an older boy with red-coloured hair and a pointed nose lectured him. The older of the two, the one with red hair, didn’t look very familiar, but upon overhearing the words ‘ _be quiet, Mycroft_ ’, Jim realised it must have been the older brother. From his research he’d assumed Sherlock’s older brother was working up in London, maintaining some exhaustive intern job with the government on top of his education, but judging by his presence he must have returned home for the Easter holidays.

There was no doubt that the younger, more argumentative, boy was Sherlock Holmes. His dark curly hair perfectly matched the photographs Jim had seen, and when his eyes weren’t narrowed Jim could clearly make out that they were a mix of blue and green, contrasting against his otherwise-pale complexion.

“I’ve seen him before,” whispered Sebastian, who Jim had forgot was even standing next to him.

“What?”

“At the Natural History Museum, when we were eight… I could’ve sworn it was them. They were arguing about something while you were gone, the older brother kept glaring at me.”

Jim stared intently between Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, vaguely listening to Sebastian as he continued whispering.

“What are they doing?”

“Picking up a prescription, I think,” the raven-haired boy suggested, nodding discreetly towards the pharmacy sign hanging from the wall outside.

The green cross made it obvious.

“They’re putting Sherlock on medication, like me. It’s Ritalin, to help with his concentration… just look at how much he’s tapping his foot. It’s probably a misdiagnosis though, that’s why he’s so argumentative. Nobody will believe him."

Then before he could say anything else, both Sherlock and his brother disappeared inside of the pharmacy, still bickering, and without thinking Jim tugged determinedly on Sebastian’s arm.

“Let’s follow him.”


	41. A New Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim continues to stalk Sherlock Holmes.

Sebastian didn’t trust Sherlock Holmes, no matter how much Jim seemed to love him. Since the start he’d been deeply suspicious; whenever Jim mentioned his name in conversation, often with a wobble of excitement in his voice, it made him envious, like the raven-haired boy was purposely taunting him to see how he would react. Sebastian wasn’t jealous of many things, however Jim’s attention happened to be one of them, and quickly after Jim’s thirteenth birthday it had become apparent that the blond was no longer his favourite possession.

Sherlock Holmes was Jim’s new obsession, which made Sebastian nothing more than his accomplice. It was a disappointing step down from what he’d been before, a mix of Jim’s best friend and right-hand man, but he didn’t complain, partly in the hope that Jim would soon grow bored of his new enemy and they could go back to living their normal lives. Nevertheless, he’d listened attentively during every one of Jim’s late night phone calls, and tried his best to remember all of the minor details the raven-haired boy often listed off to him; according to Jim, Sherlock was ten years, eleven months, and six days old, iron deficient, and had an IQ of 190. Sebastian never asked him how he knew these types of things; sometimes it was better not to challenge Jim about the things he found during his research, especially not when it threatened to ruin the good mood he was in, which nowadays was a rarity.

“How much do you know about Sherlock’s brother?” asked Sebastian in a low voice, as he stood with his face pressed vigilantly against the window of the pharmacy in an attempt to see inside.

His eyes were squinted as he tried to follow after the two brothers, who were still squabbling as they stood in line waiting for their prescription. Mycroft was at least two feet taller than his younger counterpart, wearing a pinstriped suit and a red tie which made him look more important than he probably actually was. His skin was lightly freckled, like Sebastian’s, but his eyes were black and beady, as if they were almost reptilian, or void of any human emotion. Every now and again Sebastian took a step back from the window, worried that if he lingered for too long then Sherlock and his brother might catch sight of him, but each time he found his curiosity getting the better of him again, and it wasn’t long before he returned to prying.

Jim, who was stood next to him, didn’t seem to share the same enthusiasm, which was odd considering he’d been the one to drag them both there in the first place. His arms were folded and his brow was furrowed with a concentrated glare, which Sebastian noticed when he turned briefly to look at him.

“Mycroft?” Jim scrunched up his face in distaste at the name. “He’s in full-time education, currently part of a government internship up in London. He’s seven years older than Sherlock which he thinks give him more authority.”

“Government? Like MI5?”

“The cabinet office,” the shorter boy corrected him. “He makes them cups of tea at the weekends, it’s hardly something to brag about.”

Sebastian frowned, mainly because he couldn’t imagine somebody like Mycroft working amongst the top politicians in the country.

“He doesn’t look like he’s seventeen.”

“It’s the suit.” Jim shrugged flippantly. “It makes him look older, as opposed to a boy who’s still sitting his A-Levels.”

“What does he study?” Sebastian asked.

He felt a little bad for being so invasive, but Jim seemed more than willing to answer, and he highly doubted anybody around them would want to listen in on their conversation.

“Maths, Chemistry, Philosophy, and Politics. Their parents, Siger and Violet, wanted to send him to Charterhouse so that he’d be close to home, but he was adamant that he wanted to go to Eton and so he boards there apart from during the holidays… he was made a prefect last year apparently, he’s head boy now too. Mycroft’s already applied to study at Cambridge next year. I’m sure they’re planning on sending Sherlock to Eton too once he’s old enough.”

“Four A-Levels, he must definitely be clever.”

Jim snorted in disbelief.

“Hardly.”

“And head boy too.”

“That’s just a title that was created to give people false authority. You can’t give people detentions in the real world.”

“But Isn’t that where you want to go? Cambridge?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” The shorter boy spoke like he was offended. “Oxford, Sebby. And I _am_ going to go there.”

Both Sebastian and Jim’s gazes seemed to drift in unison as they followed after Sherlock, whose turn it was to approach the front desk and shyly request his medication. It was Mycroft who seemed to do the majority of the talking however, leaving Sherlock to wander off and explore the rest of the pharmacy, keeping his back turned to the window almost as if he could tell there was somebody watching him outside.

While Jim focused on Sherlock, Sebastian was more interested in his older brother, who was stood with his arms folded sternly across his chest as he lectured Sherlock for meddling with the different bottles lined up on the shelves in an attempt to read their ingredients. Although his suit looked like it had been tailored, there was a slight bulge around Mycroft’s middle, which the blond couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of.

“Mycroft looks-"

But he quickly cut himself off, not wanting to be rude.

“You can say it, ‘Bastian,” Jim cooed in reassurance, picking up on his reluctant silence.

When he realised that Sebastian wasn’t going to finish his sentence, he immediately shrieked with amusement, and took it upon himself to answer for him.

“Large,” Jim announced with a malice-filled smile. “He’s as round as a barrel.”

“Maybe that’s what happens when you get power hungry,” Sebastian agreed, relieved that Jim had said his thoughts for him. “But I still can’t see him working properly for the government one day.”

“He’s worse than you think,” explained the shorter boy, whose face was still pressed right up against the window alongside his counterpart’s, trying desperately to see as much of the action as possible. “Mycroft would do anything for power, even if it meant destroying Sherlock. Every drop of blood in his body is full of spite.”

By the look of it Sherlock’s prescription had been filled, and a brown paper bag had been passed across the countertop by an old woman, with writing on the side which Sebastian couldn’t read. He guessed that it was Ritalin, like Jim had told him about, but it was impossible to see the actual contents of the bag from where they were stood outside. Sebastian still didn’t know very much what the drug was, aside from that it related to something about concentration, and that a couple of disruptive boys in his year at school took it to help with their attention spans.

“You said about a misdiagnosis.”

“Hm?”

“Earlier, when we first arrived,” Sebastian elaborated.  
  
“I’m glad you’re keeping track.”

“No, no, listen,” he insisted. “What did you mean by it? The doctors accidentally got it wrong?”

“It wasn’t accidental,” Jim corrected him, moving his finger to draw a circle across the glass, right where Sherlock was holding the bag of medication.

“Then-"

“-If you had a little brother who was smarter than you, wouldn’t you get jealous? Wouldn’t you want to stop him?”

Sebastian frowned in perplexment.

“I… uh… I dunno.”

He realised his answer wasn’t satisfactory as soon as Jim rolled his eyes, and he quickly tried to redeem himself.  
  
“If I had a brother then maybe, but only if they were really annoying. Why, what’s this about?”

Jim pointed his pale finger towards the window, where inside the shop Mycroft’s silhouette was taking up a considerable amount of room.

“How about if your little brother’s intelligence is overshadowing your dream of working for the government?”

“Jim!”

“Use your head for once, Sebby, think about it.” Jim rolled his eyes a second time. “They don’t like each other, not really, in-fact they despise each other. It’s like two animals fighting to be top of the food chain, only this time it’s about intellect.”  
  
“So you’re saying Mycroft is an animal?” Sebastian asked in disbelief.

“Perhaps,” shrugged the raven-haired boy carelessly. “But that’s not the point. If Sherlock had a type of hyperactivity disorder then surely it would worsen his grades."

“You can’t possibly know his-”

“-But judging by his school report last term he achieved all As,” Jim continued, ignoring Sebastian’s brief interruption. “His concentration has never been the problem, it’s just his brain overflowing with different information, struggling to process it all. How do you think it feels to be poor little Sherlock, having your intelligence mistaken for poor concentration? Being deliberately made to look stupid by your big brother?”

Sebastian recognised the hint of sarcasm in Jim’s voice, and decided not to answer. His mind drifted to Mycroft instead, wondering if what Jim had claimed was true; if he himself was Mycroft, which he thankfully wasn’t, then he would have loved to have a brother who was equally just as smart as him, in-fact the thought of having a brother in the first place made him wild with envy.

But before he could dwell on the matter any further, Jim was nudging at his ribs frantically with his elbow, his frown accompanied by a look of urgency as he gestured to the window.

“We need to go, Sherlock’s getting suspicious.”

They spent five more days holidaying at the little cottage, but even though Sebastian was enjoying it he could tell by Jim’s body language that he was hating every moment of it.

Surrey was nice; the view from the narrow twin room they shared overlooked a large grass field, where sometimes in the evenings horses from the neighbouring paddock would come to the fence, and Kirstie would feed them leftover apples from the crumble she’d spent the afternoon baking. The bunk bed arrangement Sebastian and Jim had agreed on the first night no longer seemed to matter; it had taken just one night for Jim to decide that he wasn’t satisfied sleeping alone, and demanding that Sebastian joined him on the top bunk. Naturally, the blond had abided by his younger counterpart’s commands, though secretly there was something about sleeping next to Jim he enjoyed; maybe it was the familiar sight of Jim’s space-themed pyjamas, or the way the raven-haired boy curled himself up against his flank in a tightly-cocooned ball, causing the soft hairs on the top of his head to tickle against Sebastian’s chin.

On days where it had been sunny they’d gone on sightseeing walks through the village, stopping sometimes for lunch at the village pub, whilst on the one gloomy Wednesday it had been raining they’d remained stuck indoors together, with Jim refusing to join in on the game of Gin Rummy in favour of cuddling in bed with Sebastian in the privacy of their own room so that they could further discuss Sherlock Holmes.

When it was time to leave at the end of the week, Sebastian felt strangely disappointed. Usually he’d be excited to return home after spending time in the countryside, but this time he couldn’t bare the thought of going back. Being reunited with Jim felt just like old times; his breath was the same, quiet and rhythmic, and although his voice had lowered slightly in pitch his words were rich and oozed with pleasure every time he spoke. Since they’d been apart it had become easy to tell that Jim’s Irish accent was starting to soften, and although he didn’t yet sound completely English there were subtle hints from where he’d been living in London for such a long time, like the way his tone didn’t jump around as much anymore, apart from when he was excited or very angry.

But it wasn’t just Jim’s accent that had started to change, so had Sebastian’s feelings for him.

In the Summer they’d first met, Sebastian had viewed Jim as a kind of unruly little brother; Jim had been good at making the rules, while he, Dean, and Pip had thrived in following them. But out of the original gang they were the only ones left now; Dean was still in Kilkenny, or at least there’d been no news about him since his departure, whereas Pip was back in a young offenders institute again after being caught alongside his friends stealing car batteries from the local neighbourhood. Sebastian had considered sending Jim a copy when the story had broken in the Dublin news, but Pip had been arrested so many times in recent years that it was never nearly as exhilarating anymore.

Jim was the only person Sebastian spoke to nowadays, apart from his father and sometimes Claire from school. Before they’d left school for the Easter holidays Claire had stopped him outside of their English lessons to ask what the scar on his hand was, which he knew she’d been curious about for weeks. He only had one scar on his hand, which happened to be the one from his Grosvenor Gang initiation. But instead of telling her what it was, he’d quickly shrugged the question off, not wanting to reveal that the scar on his hand meant he was forever devoted to Jim.

Sebastian’s flight back to Dublin wasn’t due to leave until Monday morning, so upon their return to Westminster a spare mattress was set up on Jim’s bedroom floor for him to sleep on.

The most Sebastian had ever seen of Jim’s bedroom had been through grainy photographs he’d been sent in the post, but the real thing didn’t differ very much from how he’d imagined it. The walls were lined with posters, even if now the numerous scientific posters he was so used to seeing were accompanied by pictures of shirtless men from magazine clippings, something he never would have expected from the childish eleven-year-old when they’d first parted. Jim’s desk, which was piled high with textbooks and newspaper scraps, sat facing the window, with a perfect view of the busy street below. Because Jim’s room was so cluttered with books and science equipment it had been difficult to find a spot to place the mattress; Sebastian was tempted to explain to Brian and Kirstie that he wouldn’t need a mattress, as it would be much easier to share with Jim, but eventually a section was cleared on the middle of the carpet, and a makeshift bed was set up with a clean quilt Kirstie had found in the storage cupboard. Sebastian still planned on sleeping with Jim, and he could tell Jim was eager for the same too, however he politely thanked the raven-haired boy’s parents anyway, not wanting to make them suspicious.

That night Sebastian joined the three of them for dinner, before following Jim upstairs towards the bathroom so that he could brush his teeth and change into his pyjamas. The bathroom was the only part of the house he hadn’t yet explored, but to his relief there was a working shower and a lock on the door so that nobody might walk in on him while he was undressing. Five years ago he wouldn’t have cared if there was a lock or not, but he was almost fourteen now, and as his body continued to change he could feel himself gradually becoming more self conscious.

Naturally Jim had stood outside of the bathroom with his arms folded, demanding to know why he couldn’t come in too. He claimed that he ‘wouldn’t watch’ while Sebastian took off his clothes, which Sebastian knew was a complete lie. He managed to shoo Jim away in the end, after a long series of bickering, and after checking to make sure the smaller boy wasn’t still lurking outside he finally dared to take his shirt and trousers off before stepping into the shower.

After a short shower he finally reemerged, returning to the bedroom where he discovered Jim stretched out on top of his bed, flipping through the pages of a heavy book.

“What’s that?” he asked, as he placed down the towel he’d been using to dry his hair and took a seat at the edge of the bed.

Jim didn’t look up from his book, he just raised a hand which Sebastian knew was a signal to be quiet.

“It’s an A-Z encyclopaedia of London,” Jim explained in a thick drawl, his ebony eyes skimming over the page he was fixated on.

“Who gave it to you?”

“Nobody.” He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly. “There’s a public library two miles away, I stole it from the reference section when I first arrived here.”

Sebastian nodded, deciding not to scold Jim for stealing since he’d done it himself countless times before. He clambered over to where Jim was lying, attempting to crawl into the gap beside him so that he could see exactly what the raven-haired boy was looking at. Jim tilted the book so that Sebastian could see it properly, and the blond examined the page he was on with a furrowed brow.

“Those are the Houses of Parliament.”

“Clever boy,” Jim agreed, reaching over to pat Sebastian rewardingly on the head. “And who works there?”

Sebastian chewed his lip for a couple of seconds as he thought.

“Politicians… y’know like the prime minister and all of the MPs.”

“Who else other than politicians?”

“Assistants, maybe?” he suggested half-heartedly. “People who help out.”

From the corner of his eye he watched as Jim’s lips curled into a more-than-delighted smile.

“Think specifically,” he instructed.

Sebastian frowned for a split second, before it dawned on him who Jim was referring to.  
  
“Mycroft,” he answered in realisation.

He knew his response was correct, as Jim swiftly closed the encyclopaedia and leant over to press a brief kiss to his cheek.  
  
“We’re going to spy on him tomorrow,” he explained, placing the book aside before curling back up under his duvet cover again.

The fabric of Jim’s duvet was soft, far more comfortable than the quilt Sebastian had been given for the night. It matched the rest of the bedroom, which had been painted a horrific shade of red, but Sebastian couldn’t help but think that it was extremely fitting for Jim’s personality.

He knew Jim could sense that he didn’t want to go back to his own mattress, as he reached out a pale hand and slipped it around his fingers to stop him from leaving. The gesture was controlling, or at least to anyone other than Sebastian it would have seemed that way; but to Sebastian, Jim’s touch felt comforting, and ever so slowly he slid his body underneath the long span of duvet, making sure as he got settled that Jim had the majority of space since it was technically still his bed.

“Sleep with me tonight.”

“Okay.”

Jim turned off his bedside lamp, plunging the whole room into darkness. The only light came from the faint glow from underneath the curtains, which Sebastian used to make out the shape of Jim’s face; his eyelids were closed peacefully, and his pink lips were parted ever so slightly so that he could breathe in and out without too much discomfort. His silhouette was small, too vulnerable for Sebastian to simply leave him lying there by himself; so with his arms the blond gently pulled the younger boy against his chest, and when he was certain that Jim was protected he dared to close his own eyes, before soon enough he fell into a dreamless sleep.

On the day before Sebastian was due to leave for Dublin, Jim had one last mission planned for them both. Jim had told both Kirstie and Brian over breakfast that he was going to take Sebastian sightseeing for the afternoon, but even Sebastian, who had been halfway through wolfing down his third slice of toast of the morning, knew that Jim’s excuse was nowhere near the real truth.

It was unbearably hot when they arrived outside of the Houses of Parliament. According to the weatherman on the news it was supposed to be the hottest day of the year, and for once Sebastian was glad of the sleeveless vest he was wearing to accompany his shorts. Jim was wearing his own pair of black shorts, looking noticeably uncomfortable as he stood red-faced beside Sebastian a few metres away from what looked to be the side entrance.

Around them, politicians and staff members were swarming the grounds; some were stood in groups, complaining about the hot weather as they tugged exasperatedly at their ties, while others were rushingwith a great sense of urgency towards the entrance as if they were running late. It was more difficult than Sebastian had anticipated to tell apart the politicians from the ordinary members of staff; he hardly ever watched the news, so he didn’t know the names of any particularly important MPs, and virtually everybody was wearing a blazer and tie which made it impossible to differentiate them. He assumed that those wearing more expensive clothes were the politicians, however for the most part he relied on Jim to tell him who was who, since he knew judging by Jim’s bedroom that he was an avid newspaper reader.

When Mycroft Holmes eventually came round the corner Sebastian was surprised to discover that he wasn’t alone, and that trailing moodily beside him was Sherlock. He looked to Jim for an explanation, but from Jim’s unfazed expression he had a feeling that the raven-haired boy had known about it all along. Unlike Mycroft, who was dressed in the same pinstriped suit as when they’d first spied on him, Sherlock was wearing a pirate hat, with a wooden sword tucked carefully into the pocket of his shorts.

“I don’t want to see a psychiatrist,” Sebastian could hear the ten-year-old protesting furiously.

Mycroft was walking with ease beside him, his ginger hair neatly slicked back and a briefcase in his hand.

“Stop being childish, brother mine,” he heard the older boy snap back immediately. “You know our dear mother and father pay a lot of money for those sessions. Try and be grateful for once.”

“But I don’t want to go, you promised you’d take me to the Science Museum.”

Sebastian looked at Jim, who was watching the conversation intently, and once more he began to feel envious.  
  
“You never told me Sherlock would be here too,” he confronted the raven-haired boy.

“He comes every month or so for his psychiatrist appointments,” Jim explained calmly. “Since Mycroft lives mostly in London it’s his responsibility to take him, although admittedly he hates it.”

“Why can’t their parents do it?.. Violet and Siger, isn’t that what you called them?”

Jim smiled when he realised that Sebastian had remembered all the information he’d told him.

“Because they’re desperate for the two of them to get along,” he drawled, his stare still fixated on Sherlock’s pirate hat, which bounced up and down as he walked. “They think forcing them on day trips together will help. Adults can be stupid, can’t they?”

Although he was still slightly unsatisfied with Jim’s response, Sebastian followed the other boy’s gaze to where Mycroft and Sherlock had stopped outside of the entrance, stood to the side so that they wouldn’t get in the way of any passing politicians. Mycroft was beginning to look uncomfortable; Sebastian could only guess that Sherlock’s pirate outfit was starting to embarrass him.

“You ask me to take you to the Science Museum every time I bring you to London,” Mycroft’s voice expressed warily. “Can’t you choose something a little more interesting?”

“But they’re giving a talk about Organic Chemistry at three. I want to go!” Sherlock persisted.

Sebastian outstretched his neck to try and listen closely, but for a few seconds there was nothing, at least not until Mycroft reluctantly responded.

“Fine, but this is the last time I’m bringing you with me. Next week get mother and father to do it.”

“You know they won’t,” Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. “They’re always too busy.”

“What do Sherlock’s parents do?” Sebastian asked quietly, looking at Jim for an answer.

“His mother is a mathematician, she writes books,” explained Jim, not really paying full attention to what he was being asked.

“Have you read any?”

“No, they’re not my type.”

“And what about Sherlock’s father?”

“He’s less impressive,” the smaller boy shrugged. “His intelligence is at a reasonable level but he’s nowhere near as smart as the rest of them. He works in finance.”

Jim then paused briefly, glancing back towards Sebastian.  
  
“Where does your dad work nowadays?”

“He washes dishes at the cafe down the road, since he got fired from his last job. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Do they really call their parents mother and father?” Sebastian then asked with a frown, thinking about how odd Mycroft’s earlier words had been. “It’s a bit old-fashioned isn’t it?”

“No, it’s just while they’re in public,” Jim assured him, his lips immediately curling into a smug grin. “At home Mycroft calls them mummy and daddy.”

When the two brothers eventually went their separate ways, Jim decided that they should follow Sherlock.

It was much easier than Sebastian had expected to stalk after the ten-year-old, mostly because of the large, pointed pirate hat he was wearing. Like in Surrey, they held hands as they walked; Sebastian had suggested it so that they didn’t get lost, but judging by how tightly Jim was squeezing onto his hand he was sure the raven-haired boy had different a different intention for it. He wondered how many of the passersby would assume they were brothers, or if being thirteen meant people would no longer perceive them as being sweet and innocent children.

When Sherlock eventually stopped outside of a tall white building with steps leading up to the door, Sebastian realised they must have arrived at the psychiatrist’s office. If it wasn’t for the sign outside then he might have missed it, since the railings and black polished door made it look just like an ordinary townhouse, identical to many other expensive houses he’d spotted since his arrival. There was a single buzzer next to the door, which Sherlock tapped once before entering.

“Patience, darling,” Jim instructed firmly, sensing Sebastian’s eagerness to follow after him.

He squeezed the blond’s hand a little tighter, causing Sebastian to take a reluctant step back.

“He’s cute,” the raven-haired boy continued. “Don’t you think? With his pirate hat and his curly hair.”  
“He’s only ten,” the blond grunted resistantly.

But his words didn’t have the intended effect on Jim, who merely rolled his eyes

“Don’t be jealous, Sebby,” he cooed playfully, purposely trying to tease the taller boy. “You were adorable when you were ten too.”

“I wasn’t jealous.”

Sebastian knew that his retort was unconvincing, but when Jim didn’t fire back a playful jeer like he’d expected he looked over in confusion, only to discover that Jimwas observing him with a gleaming smile spread across his lips.

“What are you doing?”

“Just admiring how handsome you’ve become,” Jim replied calmly, as Sebastian watched his dark gaze shift admiringly between his torso and face. “You’ve had another growth spurt since that last photograph you sent me, and your voice is getting deeper.”

“Is that bad?” he dared to ask.

“No.”

Jim shook his head proudly.

“It means you’re becoming a man.”


	42. Jim's Second Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jim turns fourteen, he is forced to deal with blackmail.

Shortly after his fourteenth birthday, Jim became aware that he was being watched.

He first noticed it after returning home from his weekly science club meeting, carrying with him a book on ‘ _The Dynamics Of An Asteroid_ ’, which Mister Chowdhry had let him borrow for the weekend. He often stayed behind once everybody else had gone so that he could talk to Mister Chowdhry, who was always thrilled to hear about his fascination with maths and science. He was the only teacher Jim trusted at his school, and the only one who spoke to him as if he was an adult as opposed to an immature child. Like him, Mister Chowdhry hadn’t always lived in London, which aside from their love of science was what made them similar; he was originally from India, which explained his heavy accent, and sometimes when Jim stayed behind after science club he would tell him all about West Bengal, and the strict boarding school he’d attended with his two brothers as a child. That day Mister Chowdhry had a meeting with the rest of the department, so Jim hadn’t been able to stay for as long as he usually would have liked, but there had still been enough time for Mister Chowdhry to hand over the book from his desk drawer like he’d promised, which he’d brought in specially from his own bookcase at home.

It wasn’t until he was getting changed out of his school uniform later that evening that Jim spotted a strange light from across the garden, and the shape of a small silhouette which seemed to be facing his direction. It came from the house opposite; the light was pale and faint, like it had been created using a weak bedside lamp, only when Jim approached the window to investigate it had already vanished, making it impossible to decipher which window it had come from.

The figure, whoever they were, had watched him undress into his boxer shorts, taking advantage of the fact that the bedroom window had been left open. He’d spent the evening trying to replicate an experiment Mister Chowdhry had taught him using his own science kit, only the smell of hydrogen peroxide had been so strong that he’d opened his window to get rid of it, before becoming so invested in his new book that he’d forgotten to close it again once the smell had successfully disappeared.

For the next two weeks Jim remained highly suspicious, checking his window each night before he went to bed to see if the culprit would return. He finished ‘ _The Dynamics of an Asteroid_ ’ within a couple of days, delighting Mister Chowdhry, and the next week at science club he was allowed to borrow ‘ _A Treatise on the Binomial Theorem_ ’, which wasn’t strictly about science but was still interesting nevertheless. As well as reading it on his way to school Jim also read it in the library during lunchtime, when he wasn’t busy researching Sherlock Holmes on one of the school computers, but as he was preparing to leave on Friday afternoon he spotted Mister Chowdhry browsing the non-fiction section by the door, who smiled politely at the sight of him and beckoned him into the corridor so that they could talk in private without being critiqued by the librarian.

“It’s good to see you, Jim. How are you finding the book I gave you? It’s a little complicated for boys your age but I figured you wouldn’t find it too difficult.”

Like always, Mister Chowdhry was wearing a cotton jumper and a tie which smelt of cleaning detergent from the science equipment cupboard. He had dark skin, and a kind smile which was hidden only slightly by the bushy beard covering his face.

“I’ve almost finished it,” Jim expressed triumphantly, as he stood with his head held high in-front of the science teacher. “It’s fairly straight forward, I’m on the last chapter.”

“I thought you might find it easy, polynomials have always been your thing.”

Mister Chowdhry chuckled amusedly at his own sentence, however once he’d finished laughing his facial expression quickly became serious.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… are you feeling alright?”

It wasn’t often that the older man was serious, not aside from when he had to scold people in class for misbehaving, or when the school had arranged a memorial in the assembly hall the week following from Carl Powers’ death. Mister Chowdhry didn’t suit being solemn; his face was too gentle to be frowning all of the time, and even when he did shout on rare occasions it always led to him becoming uncomfortably flustered, the complete opposite of his usual humorous self.

“…It’s just that you haven’t raised your hand in class at all this week, and usually you’re the only person who answers my questions,” he continued with the tiniest of smiles, trying and failing to hide his concern.

Jim wondered whether or not to tell the older man about the figure he’d seen watching him the other night, but after a few seconds of uncertainty he decided not to. He didn’t want to sound paranoid.

“I’m okay, sir,” he lied. “I’ve just been tired, that’s all.”

Mister Chowdhry, who had noticed his pause, just smiled sympathetically and nodded.

“Alright,” he agreed. “You know you’re one of my favourite students, Jim, if you ever need anything you can always come and find me in my classroom. I might even have a few chemistry magazines I can let you borrow.”

“You never give anybody else chemistry magazines.”

“That’s because nobody else in the class ever gets full marks on their exams like you do. I doubt any of your other classmates even pay attention to my lessons.”

Jim merely smiled, and wondered what Mister Chowdhry would do if he ever found out the truth about the missing Botulinum bottle from the equipment cupboard.

While he was in his bedroom that afternoon, making the final adjustments to his science experiment, he overheard a knock on the door downstairs, followed by the disorganised clatter of footsteps as Kirstie rushed to answer it. The door opened just as he was preparing to pour the last batch of hydrogen peroxide into a test tube, and a boy’s voice he didn’t recognise sounded from the threshold. Jim thought nothing of it and returned to his experiment, making a rough note of the chemical reaction in his notebook, however before the reaction had even reached its peak his hard work was ruined by yet another knock, this time on his bedroom door.

“I told you not to come in when I’m doing an experiment,” he snapped impatiently at Kirstie, knowing it was her simply by the smell of her perfume.

“There’s a friend for you downstairs,” Kirstie explained, smiling at the sight of the experiment, even though Jim knew she didn’t really like it.

She didn’t like the smell, neither of his parents did, nor the fact that he’d spent all week alone in his bedroom refusing to speak to anybody.

“I don’t have friends.”

He thought momentarily about Sebastian, and he could tell by Kirstie’s gentle smile that she had too.

“Well it would do you some good to get outside for once,” she stated, her voice hinting at concern. “You’ll get deficient if you don’t get any sunlight.”

“Mm… I’ll just take vitamins if I get sick,” Jim drawled unconvincingly.

Kirstie walked over and smoothed down a few strands of his unruly hair, and with a scowl Jim recoiled his slender frame from her touch. As she leant in close he could smell the scent of gravy and potatoes on her apron, meaning before she’d come upstairs she’d probably been in the midst of cooking.

“Who is it anyway?”

“A boy from the house opposite.” The woman smiled affectionately as she watched him, before slowly retreating back to the door. “He wanted to know if you were home… Go on, there’s an hour or so until dinner.”

Although he didn’t trust Kirstie’s words, Jim reluctantly packed up his equipment and pocketed his notebook, making sure to screw shut the lid of his hydrogen peroxide bottle before placing it back into his bedside drawer for safekeeping. When he arrived downstairs there was indeed a boy at the door, approximately the same age as him, with straw-coloured hair and a nervous smile. He was scrawnier than Sebastian, with some baby fat still around his cheeks, and was wearing a navy-coloured jumper the complete opposite to his own maroon school uniform, similar to what the students at the local comprehensive down the road wore. It meant he couldn’t be very smart, that was for sure.

“You’re the one who’s been stalking me through my bedroom window.”

Jim recognised the boy instantly from his short stature and the shape of his head, which perfectly matched the silhouette he’d seen stood at the window. To confirm his suspicion, the boy’s pale face erupted into a guilty shade of crimson, and he adamantly shook his head.

“It wasn’t stalking.”

“Then why have you been watching me get undressed into my underwear?” But without even waiting for an answer Jim glanced towards the kitchen, where Kirstie was peeling potatoes on the countertop, before returning to face the boy with a suspicious glare. “…Never mind, come on.”

“Where are we going?” The boy demanded.

“Outside to the garages,” Jim answered with a roll of his eyes, pushing past him and closing the door behind him. “Unless you want my mam to overhear us.”

They walked towards the garages in tense silence, with Jim leading pompously in-front; they consisted of a row of eight garage doors, supposedly belonging to the other houses in the neighbourhood, but everyone who lived there knew they were a notorious meeting spot for drug dealers and love-struck teenagers looking for a bit of privacy. Each door had been completely covered in graffiti, the same type of spray paint the Grosvenor Gang had once used to vandalise St. Matthew’s School under the command of their seven-year-old ringleader. Jim stopped promptly in-front of the first garage door and folded his arms, observing the boy in-front of him with heavy scepticism.

“What’s your name?” He inquired.

“Roger.”

“That’s not a proper name.”

“Roger Kilbride,” the boy continued defensively, adding to the raven-haired boy’s already-mounting displeasure. “I live in the house opposite, I see you going to that posh school every morning while I’m in the car… I think you’re handsome.”

Jim’s chest tightened at the confession, and he felt himself becoming unbearably hot around the cheeks.

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Yes I do,” the stalker sulked adamantly. “It’s James. You moved to Westminster three years ago, I remember seeing the moving vans out of the kitchen window.”

“You have a good memory,” Jim pointed out.

“Only when things are actually worth remembering.”

There was a fuzzy feeling in his chest, and Roger’s words acted like a catalyst. Without thinking he found his gaze drifting towards the other boy’s lips, which were pink and plump, and when he looked up he realised Roger was doing the exact same.

The kiss that followed was strange, not because Jim didn’t enjoy it, but because it wasn’t Sebastian.

Their lips clumsily trailed across each other’s skin, frantic and desperate, like neither of them had even stopped to consider that they’d need to come up for air at some point. Soon Roger’s hands were against his waist, causing Jim’s crotch to stiffen as they edged dangerously close to his school trousers, and he found himself moaning subtly. He’d never had sex with anybody before, nor had he ever touched anybody else in such an intimate way; as the other boy’s fingers wrapped around his zip it felt instinctive, like dozens of atoms colliding with each other, until all of a sudden it felt wrong.

All he could think about was Sebastian, with his charming eyes and his pointed grin, and with a sluggish grunt of horror Jim broke his lips away.

“Was I too keen?”

“No.” The raven-haired boy grimaced painfully, wiping his wet lips with the back of his blazer sleeve to dry them. “It’s just-"

Roger’s hands shot immediately back to his own pockets, as if they hadn’t been wandering up Jim’s thighs only a split second earlier. He looked equally just as startled, even a little bit ashamed.

“-You are attracted to boys, aren’t you?” Roger demanded sullenly, cutting him off.

Jim swallowed the uncomfortable lump in his throat and nodded.

“So what is it then?.. D’you only kiss boys from that posh grammar school of yours?”

“It’s not posh.” Jim shook his head, before pausing uneasily. “I’ve just got someone else, that’s all.”

“Bullshit, Roger cried in disbelief. “I’ve never seen you leave the house with anybody. You just sit in your bedroom all day.”

“He doesn’t live here.”

Jim could almost see the cogs working inside of the other boy’s brain, slow and painful. He’d already forgotten about the kiss, or at least how it had felt. If he closed his eyes he could still remember Sebastian’s kiss from all those years ago, careful and tender, but with this new boy he felt nothing. He wasn’t special. Nobody in London was. It wasn’t like the green fields of Ireland, where he and Sebastian had often pointed their fingers to the sky, and declared how one day they were going to conquer the whole entire world and make it their kingdom.

Jim missed those days. More than ever.

“Where then?” Roger implored, reminding the raven-haired boy that he was no longer in Ireland, but instead hidden behind a block of dusty, graffiti-covered garages with a boy he didn’t find very attractive. “You mean like another part of London? Like Chelsea or Kensington?”

“Mm.”

Jim couldn’t bring himself to answer truthfully.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you kissed me again,” stated the other boy boldly.

“He’d kick the shit out of you until you were barely recognisable,” Jim bit back, smiling proudly at the thought.

“And what about you? Would you mind?”

Roger’s determination was beginning to irritate him.

“I’d stop your heart beating if you dared to even try.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me,” Jim hissed.  
  
“Does your mum know?” Roger then asked.  
  
“Know what?”

“That you like boys?”

Unlike earlier, when Jim thought he’d had control of the situation, suddenly he felt panicked, like he didn’t know how to respond. The other boy must have picked up on his body language as he grinned before Jim had even attempted to respond, his eyes narrowing beadily.

“If you don’t do as I say then I’ll tell her.”

The raven-haired boy stiffened resentfully. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I know where you live, besides she thinks we’re friends. She said I could stay for dinner if I wanted to.”

“Is this supposed to be some kind of blackmail?”

“Why? Does that scare you?”

“Not at all,” Jim replied cooly, offering a bitter smile which didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just don’t like people telling me what to do.”

When the ambulance arrived the following fortnight, silent and discreet, it was only Jim who noticed it from his bedroom window. There were no sirens, no flashing lights, just two paramedics wheeling out a small body covered by a sheet, while a woman wearing a dressing gown sobbed into her husband’s arms.

The next morning at breakfast, the mood around the table was oddly sombre. When Jim, who hadn’t slept at all, made his way into the kitchen for a cup of tea he discovered both Kirstie and Brian sat around the wooden table, looking tired and dishevelled.

“Roger Kilbride died last night.”

“Oh, Jim mumbled innocently, letting go of the teabag he’d had in his hand.

“I’m sorry, love, I know you two were friends,” Kirstie sighed apologetically, standing up and pulling him into a comforting hug.

He decided not to correct her; instead he remained still and silent while she stroked her pale fingers through his hair, enjoying the sympathy.

The older woman decided to make him a cup of tea once the hug was eventually over, which Jim could only assume was her way of trying to ‘cheer’ him up. She made a fuss trying to find the packet of his favourite biscuits in the cupboard while the kettle boiled, and once the tea had been poured she presented them both in-front of him, gently kissing the top of his head before she pulled away. Although he didn’t feel very sad, Jim appreciated the mountain of biscuits anyway, and snatched one from the top before proceeding to nibble carefully at the edge.

“How did he die?” he asked, and for once Kirstie didn’t scold him for talking with food in his mouth.

She looked uncomfortably at the slice of marmalade toast in-front of her, which still hadn’t been touched, before looking over to Brian for support. The bearded man cleared his throat, and took off his glasses momentarily so that he could clean them with his shirt.

“The rumour going around the neighbourhood is that his blood vessels became blocked during the night,” explained Brian gravely, keeping his voice low and respectful as he took a sip from his half-empty coffee mug.

“He had a heart attack,” Kirstie reiterated from his side, in the same solemn tone as Brian. “…They found hydrogen peroxide in his body you know, like in cleaning products… He probably ingested it.”

Jim listened attentively, trying not to show that he was too interested. He stole two more biscuits from the packet, breaking them apart carefully, before quietly excusing himself from the table, slotting one of the biscuits into his dressing gown pocket for later.

Roger’s death wasn’t the talk of the school when the fourteen-year-old entered through the gate on Monday morning, instead it was all about the upcoming mock exams, and the school football team’s crushing defeat at the weekend. It wasn’t the same as when Carl had died, when all of the teachers had worn black and nobody had dared to even crack a smile for the entire week. Roger being a student at the local comprehensive was a good thing; it meant nobody would know who he was, nor would they care if they found out he had died. He was disposable, just like Carl, just like the rest of Jim’s insufferable classmates.

Like always he had a double lesson of Religious Studies in the morning, followed by two hours of maths and science after lunch. The first lesson of the day dragged agonisingly, not just because they were learning about Jesus’ forty days and forty nights in the desert, but because Jim’s mind was filled with far more pressing matters. As soon as the bell rang he collected his books, which hadn’t been written in, bundling them into his backpack before joining the queue of other boys as they filed out into the corridor. The sound of the bell meant that it was lunchtime, which in-turn also meant that Mister Chowdhry would be alone in his classroom, giving Jim the perfect opportunity to speak to him.

He knocked before entering, and when he stepped inside he was relieved to find Mister Chowdhry sat at his desk, eating the remains of a sandwich why he mulled over the pile of unmarked test papers on his desk. The older man looked up immediately at the sound of the door, and smiled pleasantly when he spotted Jim’s familiar face, polishing off the last of his sandwich before placing the empty tinfoil wrapper back into his workbag.

“Mister Brook! How can I help you?”

He offered Jim a seat opposite his desk, but the raven-haired boy politely shook his head.

“I just wanted to ask you for a favour,” Jim began, trying his best to ignore the shouts and swearing of the boys playing football outside. “It’s about this experiment I’ve been conducting at home.”

Mister Chowdhry’s head tilted upwards in intrigue. “I remember you telling me, how’s it coming along?”

“Very well,” the smaller boy agreed, chewing hesitantly on his tongue before he continued. “It’s almost finished, I just needed to ask if I could borrow a couple of chemicals from the equipment cupboard.”

“Jim, you know the rules. We’re not allowed to give students chemicals-"

“-I’ve run out of hydrogen peroxide,” Jim said, hoping it wouldn’t sound too dubious.

“Run out? I thought you told me you had the perfect quantity.”

“Some got lost,” he lied, though it technically wasn’t a lie, just a half-truth. “I only need a couple more drops, that’s all. My final results depend on it.”

Although Mister Chowdhry seemed somewhat confused, he didn’t ask how the hydrogen peroxide had gotten lost, he just rose to his feet and glanced guilty at the unmarked tests on his desk. Jim caught sight of his expression, and quickly piped up again.

“I can get some on my own if you have too much work to complete… I know where it’s stored, I won’t let anybody see me.”

The older man sighed, torn between whether to agree or not, before finally he gave in and nodded his head. He opened the top drawer of his desk, producing a red key with the words ‘ _do not remove_ ’ written across the top. Jim took it carefully from his hand, and concealed it inside of his fist.

“Now don’t take any more than you need, okay?” Mister Chowdhry instructed him as he sat back down at his desk, still with his gaze fixed upon the red key in Jim’s hand. “We still haven’t caught the person who stole the Botulinum, we’ve been threatened with a formal investigation by the head of the department if we don’t find out who it was… I’m convinced it was one of the sixth years, they’re always lurking around the cupboard at break time.”

Jim nodded, remaining expressionless. He thanked Mister Chowdhry for the key and smiled on his way out, glancing behind his shoulder in order to make sure that he wasn’t being watched. The science corridor was always empty at lunchtimes; only Mister Chowdhry ate his lunch in his classroom, the rest of the teachers all sat together in the staff room. Sometimes Jim wondered if the older man was lonely, but it was difficult to tell when he was always smiling.

He placed the key into the metal lock before turning it as quietly as he could, placing his hand against the doors of the cupboard to prevent them from rattling as they opened. After tucking the key into his pocket Jim scanned the abundance of shelves with his ebony eyes, finding a full bottle of hydrogen peroxide almost immediately. He was tempted to leave it as that, like Mister Chowdhry had instructed him to, but then he thought about Carl. And Roger.

And Sebastian.

A part of his mind was left unsatisfied; there were still so many morons in the world, so many thick-skulled idiots he still hadn’t gotten rid of yet. Killing was exhilarating, like something he couldn’t stop. He didn’t _want_ to stop.

After dumping his backpack onto the floor he placed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide inside, before beginning to scavenge around the shelves of the cupboard for warning labels, dangerous substances, anything that students weren’t allowed to touch. Since stealing all of the chemicals would be far too suspicious, and would certainly get him expelled, in the end he unwillingly settled for five, rearranging the remaining bottles once he was finished to hide any gaps. Jim locked up the equipment cupboard and pulled the zip on his backpack, hoisting it carefully over his shoulders so that none of the bottles made any noise and drew unwanted attention towards him. He didn’t know what he was going to do with them yet, or who exactly he was going to use them on, but one thing was for certain.

He was going to start a business.


End file.
